#i want to learn to draw animals better and drawing for someone else motivates me. every little bit helps

[marsixm]

drew this for a friend and then subsequently found out 2 days ago he had to put down his 2 yr old cat he rescued off the back of a truck and raised from a day old kitten

[galedekarios]

You don't have to ship it, but they do have their similarities—enough that it really isn’t any two white dudes shoved together (unlike one pale elf and another wood elf are). Their personalities, alignments, and histories make them very different people, but some of their goals, struggles, hobbies, motives, requirements, and unpopular moral opinions align in ways that they don't with other origins. I think what similarities they do have are the reason why they butt heads at first, and why Gale later on softens up to Astarion as he becomes more comfortable with himself. They check a lot of the requirements for mirror characters, and it's a ship that's at its best when people hone in on that rather than using it to write out their yaoi punching bag Gale x perfect pained princess Astarion fantasies.

i was debating not answering this because this isn't really something of a debate for me or something that i will change my opinion on.

they share the same levels of surface similarities with everyone else in the roster, if you truly want to put your mind to it.

my point is not "don't ship" or "ship", my point is these sorts of shallow parallels can be drawn between any and all of them. it doesn't translate to them being "made for each other" or "written for each other" or being "narrative foils" or "mirrors".

some of their goals? which ones exactly? getting rid of the tadpole? regaining agency? learning to live the life they feel they lost? again, that's something all of them share.

what struggles? overcoming an oppressive relationship? again, that's something all of them share.

what hobbies do they share? reading? because they share the same reading animation despite ast*rion never talking about books? on the contrary, he even derides reading and books as a waste of time.

what motives? motives for what?

what requirements? consuming something? karlach needs infernal iron in order to survive.

what unpopular moral opinions? about what? in which respect?

it's all so shallow.

people mistake where gale's "unpopular moral opinions" come from in opposition to ast*rion's: in the beginning, they come from pragmatism and being smart enough to recognise that the group is facing a seemingly unwinnable battle against an unknown entity that is controlling an entire army to later finding out it's a legendary elder brain with a macguffin on its head. it's not about hubris nor is it about being unhinged or selfish. it's pragmatism against insourmantable odds and it's selflessness by act iii that makes him offer his sacrifice even if you have convinced him to live. if we are speaking about the crown, the boat scene beats you over the head with it stemming from gale's loss of faith in m*stra and wanting to be better than her in order to help - themselves and others.

they don't check "requirements for mirror characters" in any way that the others do not. i could take any and all of these "mirrors" and apply them to every other companion in the game if that is the level of "depth" we are using.

if we look past the shallow parallels you can draw for basically all of them, we see gale shooting down ast*rion's manipulation tactics right away ("i do enjoy our walks together. don't you, gale?" "uh sure. in silence."). we see their different approaches to what the journey throws at them. gale enjoys helping people, for no gain at all, and diplomatic solutions (arabella, mirkon, mayrina, zevlor, etc.), he needs someone who is on his side, someone who is willing to accept him for who he is. gale is genuinely good-hearted and kind. that is why they butt heads early on. not because they are similar. in opposition to that, ast*rion delights in cruelty. he is so needlessly and often. towards those in need, towards children, towards animals. he is out for no one but himself. he shows little emphathy to anyone, with the exception of himself always ("the problem with what cazador has done is that he did it to me.").

ast*rion in particular is often downright cruel and degrading to people around him, he's cruel and degrading to gale, to the problems he faces and who he is as a person (just a few examples from the top of my head):

from the moment when gale reveals his backstory ("why isn't this netherese jack in a box a blip on the horizon already?") to the mystra reveal (being more focused on what it means re: controlling the cult than gale's impending death), and his casual dismissal of who gale is as a person at every other turn ("i don't care what's in every mind flayer colony, gale - nobody does. except you."), to delighting in the fact gale was kidnapped by orin.

are k*rlach and gale foils because they share a bomb in their chest?

are sh*dowheart and gale foils because they share religious trauma?

are w*ll and gale foils because they share having a relationship with an incredible power imbalance with a female entity?

are h*lsin and gale foils because they both have a library?

are w*ll and gale foils because they have their tents set up next to each other in act i?

to wrap it up: they are completely incompatible to me.

they are "mirrors" or "foils" in the same way that karlach and gale are. or gale and wyll. or gale and shadowheart: at the most there are parallels you can draw that are tenuous at best and shallow at worst. the broad same general narrative structure doesn't create narrative foils.

i've tried to engage with this ship to see what people are doing with it and the relationship usually starts in the same way over and over again in a way that gale's character a disservice.

gale isn't someone who cares about physical attractiveness, nor is he someone who is into one night stands or sleeping with someone for the sake of it while ast*rion's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you are being manipulated by him, sex and attraction as a springboard.

gale's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you accept him as he is. it's a slow burn. mystra's missive forces his hand into confessing early and sharing himself with you in what time is left to him - sex is a component of a greater whole.

gale also isn't someone to just take insults or abuse or dismissal and then still run after said someone to have a relationship, he isn't someone where enemies to lovers work or fwb (both things that seem to be quite popular with this particular ship).

i'm not even going to touch on the 'dubcon' aspect i've also seen a lot of forcing 'favours' from gale because he needs magical artefacts because that's a whole different can of worms.

again: this is not a don't ship post. you are free to ship what you want. this is solely a this relationship doesn't work for me, much less as narrative foils, post, and i have seen nothing that would convince me otherwise in the game or from the people who do like this ship.

[lady-byleth]

A thing that strikes me every time I watch Ace of Diamond is how Miyuki is both an extremely insightful and caring person but at the same time too socially awkward to make use of that

Like, yes, he's an absolute raccoon and gremlin but he plays that up so hard that most people around him think that that's all he is. Which couldn't be further from the truth.

While he's extremely bad at reading people in general and doesn't really understand emotions he is observant enough to recognise behavioral patterns and connect them to what he knows of people's personalities and experiences to draw correct conclusions. And that kind of observation and analysis is not possible if you don't care deeply

And while he will absolutely use this ability for his own amusement he typically utilises it simply to compensate for his own shortcomings in interpersonal relationships. He doesn't know how to comfort or motivate so he redirects instead.

His constant needling, annoying and insulting is his way of channeling his pitchers' nervous energy into their frustration with him and that way they focus on shutting him up instead of worrying about the situation.

But when he notices an actual problem that behaviour disappears immediately and he notifies someone else who can deal with it better.

He was the first to realise Furuya's slacking off was fatigue exacerbated by the summer heat and instantly connected it to having moved to Tokyo from Hokkaido only recently.

He was also the first to recognise Sawamura's crumbling performance as yips and instantly isolated the cause for it too.

But the next step would be seeking conversation and working on a solution, which involves addressing emotions, and that's where he freezes up every time. Because emotions and understanding them as well as seeing what's written between the lines is Kuramochi's thing, not Miyuki's. So he relegates to the coach or Chris instead.

You can also see that he always knows when his usual tactic of pissing someone off won't work and that he always tries to find another way when relegating isn't possible. But because dealing with emotions is his greatest weakness it always ends up either super awkward or straight up backfiring

Even his fight with Zono stemmed from Miyuki being too socially awkward to even remotely understand why Nabe came to him in the first place. It takes Kuramochi pointing out that someone who wanted to quit wouldn't make such an effort taking notes for him to realize he missed something again. And it's that part that makes him the most upset, not Zono arguing with him. And him being upset with himself make the fight only get worse because being as emotionally challenged as he is he doesn't know how to back down either

He's been fully aware of and bothered by this even before the start of the series so his answer was to remove his own brain to mouth filter instead...until this was no longer an option.

When he becomes captain it's suddenly not just about him and the pitchers anymore but the entire team that's looking to him for guidance and his own shortcomings end up affecting everyone

So he starts making the effort to be more open and understanding, tries to connect with the team on a different level and not always rely on his sharp tongue.

And going back from Act 2 to the start of the series you can really see what an emotional journey this all is for him and how much he grows with it. Because first he allows himself to care so much that he puts his own health at risk for the team until he learns to balance this deep caring with his responsibility as captain and becomes the reliable pillar of strength that keeps Seido going straight while Sawamura takes on the role of emotional center

Of course, he's not even close to being done growing and he still messes up but hey, he's only 17 years old by Act 2 and the growth he undergoes in just that one year we experience with him is already impressive

Anyway, this sports manga/anime has better character development than most media that claim to be "character driven" and I'm in love with it

[sanctus-ingenium]

So you are one of my main art inspos, so I was wondering if you could provide tips on some of the "AHA!" moments you had in your journey. Sort if like things that one you knew them, your art suddenly got a lil better.

oh wow uh

it's hard to pin down specific moments but i'll do my best

vet school, forensic anthropology & human anatomy for radiographers courses (last two were electives) - this is the best way to learn anatomy. seeing how bodies are put together, especially the bodies of animals in my case, was a string of aha moments. i drew a lot of human bones and organs from life.

drawing other stuff from life as well - i learned about shading metals from a school project when i was 15. that stuff sticks with you if you try it often enough and you have a grade relying on it lmao

abandoning layer modes in most cases. i've never liked filters or layer modes and i used to think that a multiply or overlay layer was the easiest way to shade and my god no it is not. when i shade it's by direct painting and it feels so much more intuitive to me, and also i learned more about how to pick colours manually to go well together from the start. but what works for me might not work for you

abandoning my attachment to Having An Art Style. seriously guys so many people waste time trying to bring all their work in line and making it all look the same or agonising over Their Style... you don't have to do that. if you feel like drawing something completely different one day than the next then do it. you will have more fun. personally i love experimenting with how many different ways i can draw the same subject and making things that don't look like what i drew yesterday. broadens my horizons.

i've realised that if i kept going a lot of these would be just "when i stopped giving a fuck" and honestly yeah. it works and it's my #1 tip for helping me relax and have fun while drawing. you don't even have to improve at art (i'm assuming you want that since you're asking, but for everyone else - yes it is totally fine to not learn anything new if you're happy with what you have. who cares if you never learn how to draw something people think is mandatory.)

kind of related to "stop giving a shit about style", one of my great joys for a few years now has been in trying to faithfully reproduce specific shit i like with the tools i have - for example, trailcam photos, lino prints, pencil sketches, vintage comics, stuff like that. even if my motivation was just "i want to draw my werewolf character saying hi to a trailcam" and i was more or less tracing from a real trailcam photo at first, i was still learning. i learned about lighting, foliage, how to set a scene, stuff like that. it kills art block too

i saw someone say "cool shadows = warm highlights/warm shadows = cool highlights" once and it's been a core part of my personality ever since

[chrisrin]

What would you tell someone who wants to try animation? Like advice or something

Depends on what your goals are!

I know for me, I picked up animation because I had an animatic idea and I thought "no one else is going to do it, so I have to" which forced me to learn how to make storyboards. I looked at reference, inspiration, etc. to learn how to do it. If that's your motivation, then do just that. Take that idea and make it happen.

You might not be at the skill level where you can make it exactly how you dream it in your head, but by pushing those skills and trying, you'll grow and learn. You can always return to a project later, you can always remake something. But it's about the journey there where you learn those valuable skills and get practice.

So have a project, and work to figure out how to do it. It'll keep you motivated because it's something you want to do, and you'll want to make it the best it can be, so you'll want to push yourself. If that makes sense.

If you goal is simply to learn how to draw things in motion and you don't have a particular project in mind, I'd start with AnimatorIsland's 51 animation exercises. Your goal isn't to do them all, not by a long shot, but it's a great place to see where to get started for more specified animation practice.

The best bet is to have a mix of both of these. Work on projects for fun and for motivation, while also doing exercises to improve in your technical ability. Even better if you can combine the two. Do you want to learn how to draw walk cycles? Do a Soldier, Poet, King animation meme with your favorite characters! Do you want to learn how to draw lip syncs? Do it with an OC singing a song about them, etc.

Make the exercises fun! Have fun! That's the most important thing, animation is hard but you should enjoy yourself. Do it because you want to!

[noxyfied]

Hey, I am making a comic. Wanna hear about it?

Being a busy person during the next couple of years, I managed to get something out of it. My digital skills have quite improved from their humble beginnings when I got my first drawing tablet. It was just then, I had to start new. I always been a story writer by heart, one who likes to put parts of their personal life into the stories I have written. But some may say:

"Well it is obvious everyone does that"

Yes! that is very so true, but I felt as I inserted too much of myself into these stories I was a self insert by that time.

Looking back, is it embarrassing? yes, and so will be the things past 2019.

Nevertheless, I had to start fresh. Be original, be something you can proudly stand in front of people and tell them without feeling as your pants just disappeared when the crowd is staring.

Well, it's 2020. What a year ain't it

Someone such as myself who graduated from college with a Illustrator degree came down to a big feeling of pride and motivation to finally start writing.

Something that connects to myself without really making me the protagonist in anyways, I had to create LIFE!.

Make my own characters was first before anything else, this is better than nothing right?.

I am getting there!

But what would be the media I would present this story with characters whom exist in this void in my head?

I am no literary writer so writing it to a book will not work.

I cannot animate for the life of me, so no.

Film? Get out of here! how am I supposed to get a purple fox and a blue hair woman from.

It did came to my mind that just like a light bulb moment, a graphic novel it is!

Clearly I was getting somewhere...

...So it's 2022, about that comic I was about to make.

Well as changes through my art style came around, I now have 2 years of working in the digital medium, and I think I have improved from before right?

Right?

Well I would like to say that I did. The whole reason it has taken this long is for the insecurity of the quality of the art, I thought i made the right choice since I was still very early on my digital years. While traditionally it was much longer, but this is different.

2 Years is quite a lot, I felt ready. Although my biggest issue other than skill was the procrastination.

I may not come as the fastest worker you have known. That's it.

The true is that if i did not work on this now, then when? I do not want this to take any longer when I have already developed the story in my head, and have kept notes in my trusty notebook too.

This is not the year, at the moment I am still sketching pages for the comic...

the comic...

THE COMIC

The conic is called Nox & Neva! with a brief summary I want to come to mention what I used from my life to inspire me to make it the way how i want it to.

This is a story of a woman and a fox. yes a FOX (ice fox to be specific).

Throughout my years I have come to enjoy two types of media, dwelling into their individual communities and people. I am quite a fanatic of what I am presenting within the two and the world the live in.

the characters!

Nox: An ice fox in which who is very sleepy, very closed. Do they wish to have some company? maybe, that would be nice if they stumble upon it. Nox tends to live on their own apartment in which could use some cleaning. with that idea in mind; Nox would rather have someone clean it for them. What better way than hiring someone!.

Nox may come to be small, introverted, and perhaps not very talkative. But they do have some heart. Morals still have to be there right? Nox grew to learn them and learn about themselves.

Neva: Quite the girl, what can't she do!?

Well a lot of things, the perfect white collared worker of which you can put her in any type of job and she would instantly become number one at everything. With a few degrees from amazing schools, at what cost is all of that if she cannot open her apartment door to any guests?. Maybe working at so many offices, moving from place to place, has her have enough. At least for now, she quits her job and starts from zero, nothing looks good yet. Neva has quite the mind and body to be quite perfect, maybe a bit too perfect? She is still an extrovert, or she at least thinks. She is not good at parties. Neva just needs something more than a coworker, but a friend. how hard can that be right?.

This is Nox and Neva, the story of two quite different people who find to meet each other during a hiring, from a boss and worker to quite the friends.

How will they develop this friendship, or what will the discover from themselves thanks to the other. This is their beginning.

It's not easy to write, nor will it ever be. This is my chance to do this, and working 2 years on this means a lot to me. Reflecting on the story on yourself, and yeah you wish for success as much as for those fictional people. everyone has goals, and seek for it under their own story.

But this is the beginning, their beginning. They will become friends, but it will take it's time. And so will a lot of things.

But for me, I am having the best time of my life drawing these goobers.

[linawritestwst]

congrats on 100 followers! i love your blog so much! may i please request something for the match up event? i use she/her pronouns and if it’s helpful at all my personality type is infp. i’m a biology student who absolutely adores all sorts of animals and wildlife! i try to work hard at my studies but unfortunately i have pretty bad anxiety and depression so my motivation is killed a lot of the time, i struggle to leave the house sometimes as well bc of social phobia… i really love anime and gaming and it’s most of what i do in my spare time, i like shounen/seinen/horror anime and jrpg/story heavy mobile gacha lol. i also really enjoy art and try to draw a fair bit, i like making up characters and pretending i have my own manga series sometimes 😭 i get told i am quite empathetic and get emotional really easily if someone isn’t happy, i always try to treat people with understanding and kindness bc that’s what i would want for myself and i know how awful it feels to be made fun of and hurt by other people. i cry very, very easily and people call me childish a lot because of that + the fact that i like giving hugs to people all the time and i’m really fond of plushies still and take them everywhere with me… i’m pretty bad at cheering people up when they’re sad bc i’m so awkward and bad at vocalising my feelings, but i really do try my best! i spend a lot of time seeing the world through a depression-coloured fog, but i do believe that there’s a lot of beauty out there that i just can’t see yet! it might be scary, but i want to keep working my hardest so i can appreciate how amazing the world i was born into is, because when i become aware of how pretty nature is, i become a lot happier.

a first matchup request, yay!! thank you so much for sending a request and i'm happy to hear that you love my blog <3

now, let's see which character i think you would be most compatible with, shall we?

and i think it would be..

malleus draconia!

i'll explain why i think you two would be a really cute couple!

let's start with your mbti type. you're an infp and according to most websites and articles, infps have the best compatibility with entjs, enfjs and people that have "nf" in their mbti type. malleus (according to personality database) is an intj, but i've looked at some mbti compatibility charts and intjs get along surprisingly well with infps! (they definitely have their differences, but i think it's more interesting that way and some websites say that it's actually better for "perceiving" types to be with "judging" types)

malleus would love to listen to you talk about animals and nature. he may know some information already, but it's much more interesting to hear it from you than anyone else. he thinks it's adorable how passionate you are about such topics. he also will totally mention what he learned from you while talking to lilia and others, saying how smart you are for knowing that.

malleus admires you for trying to study even though you suffer from anxiety and depression. if you need any help, please let him know, okay? he will always be glad to listen, he may not know everything you're going through, but he still wants to help you and give you some advice.

please talk to him about anime and games. he wants to know more. also malleus should try playing something other than "gao-gao dragon-kun" for a change. (not like it's bad or anything, but trying something new is always good) i think he would enjoy some story-heavy games as well! (no complicated gameplay, just reading text, malleus is doing his best and playing visual novels) also he would love if you talked to him about your characters! you may not have your own manga now, but you may have one in the future!

YOU BEING KIND TO HIM... HE'S SOFT. he just wants someone to not be afraid of him and he would appreciate your support and kindness greatly! even if it's just an awkward attempt to comfort him, it's still important him. also he would never make fun of you for crying often, maybe it can be a little bit sudden for him, like?? why are you crying, oh no, did he do something wrong? but he will do anything to help you calm down. also he loves your hugs.

he doesn't mind you being clingy at all, in fact, he may even kinda like that. come on, this guy is so lonely, him having a girlfriend that likes to spend a lot of time with him makes him so soft ;w; he may get a little nervous if you suddenly stop talking to him for some time (what if you were afraid of him from the start and decided to leave him?), but once he learns the reason why, he will understand.

he thinks it's beautiful how no matter what happens and despite how scared you are, you still think that this world is amazing and you try to hope for the best. he feels like he could learn a lot from you.

while i was writing notes about who could be the good match for you, i also thought of lilia as the other candidate, i actually almost chose him!

i hope i've done well and this matchup is okay!

[lattewithatwistoflemon]

My Potential Autism Traits

Hyperfixations - I get obsessed with fictional characters and get depressed if I don’t have something to obsess over. Will memorize character facts (like birthdays) and dialogue and draw the same characters a million times.

Specialized interests/ skills - really good at drawing and writing and just about nothing else. Super interested in anime and games and will talk people’s ears off about it, but I don’t like making small talk and talking about everyday things like work.

Sensory - bothered by flashing lights and pounding music. Started crying when my friend mashed buttons on his arcade controller. I get very easily irritated by little things, and I wonder if this might be due to sensitivity to texture, sights, and sounds. I notice I’m in a better mood when I’m wearing comfy clothes. I can’t actually tell if my sense of touch is more sensitive than other people’s though.

Motor - clumsy. Was told that I was weird as a teenager, because I stick my butt out when I walk.

Social - say blunt things without intending to be mean. Have been told I can’t tell when someone is flirting with me. Get overwhelmed in crowds. Feel drained after social events and have to have time to myself to cool down. Might cry after social events without knowing why. I’ve been socially withdrawn as a kid and didn’t learn to really socialize until I was 16. People called me weird, because I was quiet/“shy” and didn’t go out of my way to talk to others , because I only wanted to talk about my special interest.

It takes a long time for me to miss people, especially if I’m feeling motivated and focused on my interests. Sometimes I care more about fiction than about real life.a

Other: I have a ridiculously strict sense of morals, and if someone does something I deem wrong, I think “how could they possible do that?! I would never do something like that?” So maybe this is a form of not being able to put myself in someone else’s shoes? But I feel like I don’t generally have trouble with being able to see things from outside perspectives.

Emotional: I am overly emotional/sensitive. Sometimes I have trouble understanding what I am feeling and why, and I have to over analyze myself to discern why I’m upset.

Stimming: I don’t think I have any stims????

[agent-cupcake]

fluff is good, it’s even fun sometimes. but, you know, i think i’ll always enjoy dark content the most. like, no matter how much i insist i have moved past it, my entire career began because i learned the term yandere and realized i’d found my place in the online sphere. but, really, lust and fear have a complimentary relationship. the emotions and sensations they invoke, both physically and mentally, are equally potent and stem from the same place for me. the fluttery sensation in my stomach dances indiscriminately to the tune of disquiet and arousal, excitement stirs itself up within my chest at the mention of being wanted, uncaring if the intent is sadistic or lustful. its a shared theatrical fantasy of fear, catching thrills from simulated danger as we imagine what it is to be in a situation so dire, so intense and frightening, that we cannot help but to hyperfocus on our discomfort. we practice these emotions and engage in these disastrously unhealthy relationships through emulation and the sanitized vessel of the written word, but without any of the emotional price that would be asked of us if it were real.

it’s not real. 

there is nobody lurking behind your window in the gaps between the streetlamps, even if you were to turn off the lights in an attempt to get a better view, but maybe you shouldn’t anyway. there is no face to breathe fog and leave smudged fingerprints on the glass pane while they peer into the internal life you hold sacred, but you should probably keep your blinds shut. there is nobody hiding behind your shower curtain as you stumble half-blind and asleep into the bathroom at two in the morning, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. if you hear a sound, surely you cannot logically attribute it to a malevolent person moving unseen through the secure sanctuary of your home when they assumed you would be in bed, but you should probably take a look at your locks. if you notice that your things are not where you left them, it’s silly to assume that someone has been into your room, rifling through your things and leaving them almost as you left them. to believe that somebody genuinely and truly meant you harm in such a personal way would be to risk the foundational safety that you rely on to live with any measure of peace. and besides, memories are fallible. our senses are imperfect. our overexcited and imaginative minds can betray us. you can be infected by a nightmare you can’t quite remember, only that you woke up shaky and gasping and frightened, squinting in the darkness to make out the figure standing at the foot of your bed that you could have sworn was just there only to be reassured that it was just a bad dream. you can hurry home because you felt certain you were being watched only for the sensation to be ultimately attributed to your own paranoia. yes, the world is dangerous. but maybe not your world. these things, these dramatic scenes cut straight from an episode of the hundreds of crime dramas, don’t happen to people like you.

but 

we fantasize about yanderes and dark personalities and the brutal psychological and bodily torture any character of our choice could subject us to, we imagine the most grim of situations in a light that appeals to our own desires, twisting horror to suit us in a controlled manner. 

still, it is frightening, isn’t it?

it’s past midnight, maybe one or two in the morning, and you’re sitting within the four walls of your room that you no longer believe to be protection enough from the stalker that has been creeping closer and closer. you’re staring at the familiar surroundings that suddenly feel very alien and contend with the bone crushing frenzy of utter stillness in the face of animal panic, the intense crackling and wavering that you can almost see hovering above your skin and holding up little strands of hair as chills crawl in bug-like hoards across the feverish flush of your flesh. all at once you are overwhelmed and helpless against him as he invades, defiles, and dismantles each aspect of your life. there is nothing you can do, no protection from this stylized predator who who has been perfected by fantasy made real so that he no longer resembles any common stalker. in the dark, you are vulnerable. in this situation, you are isolated. shame fills your chest, sloshing around to the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat, embarrassment at the ridiculousness of your reaction. really, what are a few messages? maybe you’re misinterpreting the signs, there’s not enough evidence to prove anything. you have to use the bathroom, yet you don’t feel safe to enter the dark hallway because there might be a figure standing at the other end, and what would you do then? you want to contact somebody for comfort, but everyone you know is asleep and you don’t want to disturb them over something so trivial. you want to move and run and scream and deal with the problem, but you can’t do anything. just sit. just watch. just wait. minutes tick by, somehow. and somehow, dawn breaks over the horizon. you didn’t sleep, but maybe the sun will provide safety. maybe.

maybe not. there’s a unique kind of horror in the mundane. you don’t think about the sounds of the world around you until you begin to feel uneasy in the sunny open air, until the paranoia kicks in and suddenly it’s all you can hear because you’re hyper-focusing on trying to identify why you no longer feel safe. birds warble and call to one another. the leaves relentlessly rustle as the playful breeze shakes them about. from far away, a dog is barking. the big kind, the one that goes “boof boof,” you’ve just gotten out of your car after being out all day and you’re standing uncertainly in your driveway, looking around to try and pinpoint why you’re so anxious. you realize, with a zipping sort of shock down your spine, that there’s nobody else around. not even any evidence that they existed in the first place and it’s so stupid but you begin to think that maybe you’re the only person who has ever existed because the world around you feels so empty and barren. energy tingles in the air, but it is hollow. a void of something you can’t quite perceive. the dog stops barking. the wind dies down. do you dare go inside? your home, the place that should be your refuge, is not safe. you go inside and look at a kitchen you scarcely recognize as your own, at a bed that might as well belong to somebody else, at decor you once were so proud to put up that now seems arranged by a strangers hand. the one who is preying on you is probably human, but the threat feels supernatural in effect. omnipresent. we fear that which we don’t understand, and how can you possibly understand the motive of someone who has focused on you? dread sinks down deep as you shift from foot to foot and second guess every move you make. it smells like sun-warmed concrete and the wind-blown scent of spring greenery. just like your home itself, the smell is familiar as it is foreign. eventually, you go inside.

it’s so obscene, the way that sweat pools between your shoulder blades and slicks your skin, making you shiver with a distinctly antithetical chill to your blazing temperature. sweat is gross and uncomfortable, it makes your clothes cling to your skin and hair mat to your forehead. it’s so crude, this gouging, pinching discomfort like you need to pee making your thighs tremble as they clench together. your entire body is wound up tight as you crouch in the dark, barely allowing yourself to breathe for fear of being discovered while he looks for you. maybe he takes his time just to mess with you, maybe he doesn’t. maybe he tauntingly calls out to you in a feigned attempt to draw you out of hiding. maybe he means it when he tells you that he loves you. no matter what, there’s no escape, not anymore. it’s a foregone conclusion that you will be found. but you can’t move. fight or flight is out the window, you are frozen. you know the eventuality, yet you cling to hope out of the sheer, stubborn, and half-mad belief that this cannot possibly be real.

its so repulsive, this sickness that gathers in your gut, that invites the swollen weight of nausea to press down heavy and inescapable in your throat, that sits on your paper dry tongue. it tastes like old, rusted metal, the scent that clung to your blistered hands when you were young and tried your luck on the ancient playground monkey bars. the bloody flavor that choked you when you lost the last of your baby teeth, leaving your childhood behind and exchanging imaginary monsters for the real ones. just when the anticipation is on the precipice of killing you, you’re found. you expected it, yet you still scream. it still hurts, it’s still terrifying, you’re still clouded by the vague fog of disbelief that this could be real. you keep thinking that. it can’t be real, this can’t be real. things like this don’t happen to you. 

but it is. you can’t stop it. you have no control over your life in that moment and thereafter. 

and you think about everything you’ve ever read online about torture. human beings are so capable of hurting each other, it’s a dedicated art form. and you know about stalkers, the real kind, not the fun fictional yandere kind. you know the torture that human bodies are capable of withstanding before dying, the grotesque limits they can endure. limbs removed or hobbled. fingers peeled of nail and skin. teeth pulled, tongue cut out, eyes gouged, skin lashed to tatters, feet spun around so the skin stretched like rubber. not to mention sexual torture. when a human being is granted absolute dominion over another, even the best of them go rotten. do you ever think about that? in these situations, the fear of pain would get to me above all else, i think. 

if you don’t immediately disassociate from the fiction, if you force yourself into the scenario as its presented with a degree of reality, the horror is really limitless. and, you may ask, why was this important? because it is six am and i cannot sleep and i’ve had this entire conceptual outline of good horror yandere fiction sitting in my docs for ages that i’ll never actually use to write character x reader so i am giving it to you raw and uncut.   

[alcoress]

kags you could ship your moots if you want

ok i said before that im scared of doing this bc what if i don’t know people well enough but. i think that’s just me overthinking so let’s go !!

@katsdni + kaminari denki — ya’ll, i have already spoken on this many times, you know how i feel. grumpy/serious! + person who helps them let go and stop competing, person who helps them realize that you can be happy without being first, and without destroying yourself in the process. happy-go-lucky/constantly laughing + person that shows them that seriousness and commitment are not scary, that putting down the humorous mask and admitting you’re sad or disappointed will not make you a burden. skateboarding at midnight, “solemates” written on the bottom of your shoes in permanent marker, putting fake tattoos from the dollar store on each other’s cheeks, constant bickering and light-hearted shoving.

@shotosjupiter + shoji mezo — ok ive said todoroki before and i meant it, but shoji was a draw for that and here’s why: he’s perfect for you. getting ice cream and walking together, he’s always holding your hand and it’s kind of funny, like when little kids have to line up in school and the teacher makes them hold hands so none of them get lost? yeah, he hovers, and it’s hella endearing. steady reassurance that you are enough, that you have done enough, that you deserve rest and peace and to live with enjoyment and happiness - and you can’t deny what he’s saying, because mezo is undeniably genuine; he would never lie to you. he never has an ulterior motive, he never tries to hide his thoughts or actions; he gifts you with absolute trust.

@aelbedo + xiao — he finds you to be so vulnerable that it hurts, he wants to protect you, but he’s not sure if he should stay, if he’s allowed to stay. but you’re sweet and kind and he doesn’t want to scare you with the horrible burden he’s carrying with him. doesnt understand most signs of affection, but he brings you a serving of his favorite food and he doesn’t mind when you brush shoulders with him. if you ever give him a gift, he’s never letting it out of his sight. laces his fingers with yours when no one else is around - half to have you close to him, and half to make sure he can feel your pulse where your wrists are pressed together - to make sure you are alive and well and he is not hurting you by existing near you. xiao can bear many things, but hurting you is not one of them.

@cozmixs + kazuha — maybe i just like kazuha too much, maybe this actually makes sense. he is always centered, unruffled, level-headed. he greatly admires your determination to prove yourself and get better and stronger at everything you do, but he also sees how that can tear you apart at times. kazuha wants to be a sanctuary for you, someone you can come to and find rest. he’s not without his own ambitions, and he also strives for constant improvement, but he sees how unwilling you are to bend at times, and he fears that will make you break. you inspire him, he has haiku upon haiku piling up in his mind about every moment he spends with you, the rush of the sea breeze and the beating of his heart.

@kirishimas-manly-eyeliner + uraraka ochako — she holds grudges, but you forgive easily. this is the first thing she admires about you. then your creativity, and then your dedication to the arts, and then the way you smile at her whenever she comes into a room and then everything, and all too soon she adores you. you’re both wearing mittens, hands in each other’s pockets as you explore an open-air market in the winter. she kisses you with powdered sugar on her lips inside the warm, glowing interior of your favorite bakery - you visit it every saturday morning. she does her best to make up a picnic basket for you so that you can sit in the park together and watch the grass and flowers sway. ochako believes you are the sun.

@forget-me-not-myo + toga himiko — she talks so much that she worries you won’t like her for it, that you’ll find her chattering off-putting. your short responses worry her further, until she realizes that you’re not displeased with her, but you just don’t want to talk, or don’t have anything to say in reply. she’s happy to just exist near you if you want silence, or hand you her phone so you can listen to her playlists that she makes especially for you. she brings you gifts constantly, soft clothes and pretty skirts and cute stuffed animals. she braids your hair and puts bracelets on your wrists. she adores you, and it’s obvious.

@strwbry-m1lk + sero hanta — maybe im just thinking about a particular vibe but? great listener, just lets you lay your head in his lap while you talk and he watches you hands move around, probably grabs one and kisses your knuckles. brings you mango tea with lychee jellies, plays riptide for you on his ukulele, loves nothing more than laying down and having you rest your head on his chest. his kisses taste like vanilla chapstick. absolutely beams at you when you come into the room, there’s literally no way for anyone to mistake the way he looks at you as anything but crushingly fond.

@luvmojii + iida tenya — finds your competitiveness amusing, and will absolutely play air hockey with you even if he loses every time. hates that when he kisses you his glasses sometimes get knocked askew, so he always does this adorable thing where you can totally tell he wants a kiss or some form of close affection bc he’ll take his glasses off and he’ll just be squinting ajsj. thinks giving you a piggyback ride is kind of undignified but quickly realizes he doesn’t give a shit about what other people think of him so long as he makes you happy. always brings you book recommendations and sends you news articles about topics you’re interested in. knows every order you make at every restaurant by heart, and learns to cook all of those orders so he can make your favorites for you himself.

if i missed you pls lmk!! there is also the possibility that i feel i don’t know you well enough to write one of these so (;´・`)> but pls tell me if ur a close moot (someone i talk to frequently) and i missed you!! bc chances are i meant to include you <3

[smutty-ki113r]

Greetings and salutations, hope I don’t bother you to much. May I please have a romantic matchup for creepypasta? You can do some nsfw stuff too if you’d like, no pressure though. My pronouns are They/Them and I’m bisexual with a preference to masculinity. My Myers Briggs type is INFJ and Enneagram type is 4. My star sign is Taurus, moon sign is Gemini. Im about 4’11..not to happy about it. I’m rather introverted, and can be considered not a people person. Because of me dressing in all black and taking a liking to gruesome and morbid things like slashers and murder documentaries. I also like to visit abandoned hospitals and houses just for fun, along with playing quite a few escape rooms. A friend of mine even likes to call me "discount vomitboyx". I’ve also been called "doomer boy kinnie" before. I also can come off a little bipolar. I’ve come to the conclusion I just scare people off. In reality, I’m intimidated by everyone around me and find it hard to start conversing, which may or may not come off as rude to people. When I finally become comfortable with someone I start to become really sarcastic and joke around with them with witty banter. Most of my humor comes off really insulting, but I’ll apologize and say it’s a joke if it becomes a problem. Lots of people don’t like me or stay away from me because of my rude behavior. I’m not good with overly sensitive or overly annoying people at all because of that, and I can’t stand kids. I’m a huge animal person though. I have my moments where I can get really feisty, or very quiet and closed off. I’m the type of person that has lots of opinions on things but I keep them to myself and bottle them up. If pushed far enough I’ll become unforgiving, and aggressive. Especially with the types mentioned above. I find the most comfort in just being in my room drawing, reading and or listening to music ( My Chemical Romance, Arch Enemy, MurderDolls, Mindless Self Indulgence, Get Scared, sometimes Will Wood, Lemon Demon or Mother Mother, etc. ), or even occasionally gaming on my switch or read and talk about Greek mythology. I’m a plushie maniac and when I fall asleep you can always see me cuddled up to one of them. I find it because I’m really touch starved. I’m guilty of being very submissive, and the slightest touch can fluster me like crazy. Especially around my sensitive areas ( neck, thighs, hips, crotch, and hair.). Call me a masochist, but rough love has always been a fantasy of mine. I suffer from asperger syndrome, depression and anxiety. I have small tics, but they only flare when I’m stressed or mad. I’ve also been developing a eating disorder. Random fact, I wear chokers a lot, so my family sometimes barks at me like a dog. It’s annoying as fuck. If you do get to this, thanks for your time. - coii

I match you with…..💕JEFF💕

Slight NSFW bellow~

You sort of sound like a less intense Jeff, but that also means you would be able to understand him because you share similar behaviors. Plus it looks like you like some things he likes so I’m gonna give it to you. ALSO WAS THAT A HEATHERS REFERENCE? BECAUSE IM GONNA WRITE A JEFF FIC BASED ON DEAD GIRL WALKING.

I think Jeff is a hypocrite but dosen’t realize it. He would probably call you emo or something and then fail to acknowledge himself. (This is purely satire). If he sat down and watched slasher films he would say such: “I could do it better” or “wanna recreate this? I could show you how”. Jeff isn’t one to be afraid of others but he most definitely scares them off, he’d probably stick by your side and make it so that you guys are a really intimidating couple.

Congrats! Jeff’s humor also comes off as super insulting, but I’m sure you will learn it’s just a joke and start using insulting- as flirting. Jeff is a dog guy, cause of Smile obviously, so you’re good on the animal person front. Bottling up emotions and then turning aggressive, sounds just like him. If you did break past your limit though I feel like it would be in an argument with him and you would both just end up sobbing to eachother, a bit sentimental and a bonding moment. Side note, Jeff likes that music too.

Touch starved you say? You know who else is touch starved? Jeff. Hug him please, once you do he won’t let go. If you fall asleep in his arms he will definitely run his fingers through your hair and if you wake up he’ll claim there was a bug on your face. He will explore all the abandoned places you want, or if you’re alone he will scare you. He’s that kind of guy.

ROUGH LOVE, yeah that’s Jeff. Will for sure fuck you good and hard so you can’t walk after, loves to see your legs shake. He will wear a cocky grin so make sure to slap him to get it off. If you want him to hurt you he will gladly do so-physically- I don’t think he wants to see you cry. Ties you up and all that jazz too, slapping and choking like a master.

This is just my note to you, eating disorders are hell. I know it feels like amazing 3/10 % of the time but (wait thats wrong, i can’t math im gay.) but anyway, the early stages are when you have to act. I encourage you to seek treatment of some sort, I know it can be overwhelming and the guilt is just unbearable, especially as time goes on. Dosen’t matter what you look like and what kind of ed it is, they are all bad and can be extremely dangerous. I would know, I almost died. But also, I know you’re just trying to find a balance but sometimes that can be hard. I’m proud of you because I know deep down you just want to feel ok.

(Btw, for educational purposes: Bipolar disorder /there are 2 types/ isn’t “crazy”, it’s categorized by a series of manic phases switching to depressive phases for weeks up to months. It’s also manic depression, having no motivation and such and then feeling like you can do anything and there will be no consequence)

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About The Mitchells vs. the Machines

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is up there as one of the best installments of the MCU. Sure, the action and CGI sucks, and the season finale could use a bit more polish, but there is so much more of what it does right. It brings up an engaging discussion through Karli; the bromance between Bucky and Sam is incredible; Zemo's surprisingly a riot, and U.S. Agent is a character whose inner psychology is something I would like to study. Plus, the series really dives deep into the themes of race and the realistic hesitance that comes with making a black man Captain America. It's easily an 8/10 series that is worth an in-depth discussion.

But f**k that s**t, because I'm talking about The Mitchells vs. the Machines instead!

I know it might be questionable that reviewing a movie starring a predominantly white family of idiots saving the world instead of the TV series about the powerful journey of a black man taking the mantle of an American icon...but this movie is fun, alright? And yes, I'm going to spoil it to explain how. So if you still have a Netflix account, I highly suggest you check it out when you have time.

Because, random people on the internet who most likely won't read this, this Ordinary Schmuck who writes stories and reviews and draws comics and cartoons is going to explain why The Mitchells vs. the Machines might just be my favorite film of the year (steep contest, I know).

WHAT I LIKE

The Animation: Let's get this out of the way right here and right now: If a single person ever tells you that this movie has awful animation, or the worst animation they have ever seen, just go ahead and assume that person is an idiot. Because holy hot cheese sticks, does this movie look amazing!

Say what you want about most of Sony Pictures Animation's movies, but you have to admit that they nail making a CGI movie looking like it could be in 2D. And The Mitchells vs. The Machines is the peak of that style. Every character in nearly every frame looks like they could work well if the movie was hand-drawn, and I love it. I am addicted to seeing films that look 2D with a 3D makeover because there has to be ten times the amount of effort to get that look just right, what with modeling each character in unique ways to nail that style wherein a hand-drawn film, you could just, well, draw it. Not to mention that the cell-shading and certain hand-drawn elements also add to the aesthetic.

Plus, there is so much attention to details, such as most of Katie's character model being covered in sharpie, or how you can see a hint of Eric and Deborabot 3000's drawn on faces even though their black screens are showing something else. Seriously, you can listen to any criticism this movie gets, but don't you dare let someone get away with telling you that it looks awful. It doesn't. It's incredible, and I SO wish that I could have seen it all on the big screen.

The Comedy: On top of being incredibly well-animated, this movie is also incredibly funny. Like, really funny. I shouldn't be surprised since it's made by the same people responsible for Clone High and The Lego Movie, but yeah, I found myself laughing, chuckling, and snorting with nearly every joke in the film. Not every joke works, to be fair. But because of the fast-paced humor, the bad jokes are almost immediately followed up with better ones soon after. What's even better is that the writers know when to take a break with the humor and let some surprisingly compelling drama take over. And even then, when there are jokes during the dramatic moments, they add sincerity to the scene rather than take anything away. Looking at you, The Amazing World of Gumball...I mean, I love you, but sheesh, you need to learn to let a solemn moment play out.

Anyways, the comedy is hilarious. And while I won't spoil every joke, I will go over some bits that might have gotten to me the most.

Katie Mitchell: Let's just go ahead and add Katie Mitchell to the list of characters I highly relate to on a personal level (which is getting longer by the minute, hot damn). But jokes aside, I really like Katie. Her love and desire to make movies is something I identify with, and her goal to just go to a place where she feels like she belongs is easy to understand. Trust me, if I found out there was a group of weirdos who like the same things I do and enjoy the things I make, I’d be willing to pack everything I have and go to them as fast as possible too. Plus, I feel like a lot of us can relate to a character who lives in a household where people question if our career goal is something we can make a living with. I remember two years ago when I told my aunt that I wanted to make my own animated series, and her reaction is a little too similar to Rick's when Katie showed him her movie. They mean well, but sometimes it's for the best to have a cheerleader rather than a critic, especially if that person is family.

Now, Katie isn't perfect as her enthusiasm can get a little annoying at times, and her desire to leave can be conceived as a little too harsh as well. Still, she's pretty cool and serves her role as a protagonist pretty well...also, if the movie gets a sequel, let's hope she and Jude become cannon by then. GIVE KATIE A GIRLFRIEND, DAMN IT!

Aaron Mitchell: But as great as Katie is, it's this goober that earns the reward for my favorite character. At times it looks like Aaron is nothing more than a source of comedy, but he handles some dramatic moments really well. Partial credit goes to Michael Rianda for that one. Yeah, having a child actor would have made Aaron sound more like a kid, but no other voice could have fit him better than what Michael offers as he comes across as weird but never obnoxious.

Also, let's give the writer points for making a character who is clearly neurodivergent. Yet also refraining from having him be annoying or useless to the rest of the cast. No one ever really disrespects or belittles Aaron and instead chooses to work with him rather than against him. Especially Katie, who forms a solid sibling bond with Aaron as a fellow weirdo. It's genuinely sweet to see, and I loved every minute that the writers showed that just because someone acts on a different wavelength doesn't mean they shouldn't be treated any less because of it. You get that with Katie, a little bit, but I see it much more with Aaron, for some reason. And I love him every minute, so that’s a win.

(Plus, I may or may not have had a dinosaur phase when I was younger, so go ahead and add him to the list of relatable characters too.)

Rick Mitchell: This is probably a character you will either love or hate, and I can see both sides of that argument. Because on the one hand, I really like Rick Mitchell. His motivation is clear and understandable from the first set of home videos with him and Katie, both near the beginning and the end. Sure, he messes up a lot, but he is still a man who cares deeply about his daughter, as well as his entire family. He gets to the point where he would make great sacrifices for all of them, especially Katie. Plus, it's just pleasant seeing a cartoon dad who isn't a complete idiot or overprotective regarding his daughter's love life.

However, there are times when Rick comes across as an irresponsible d**k. When he does things like smash the family's phones without telling them or giving them screwdrivers for "presents," you're either gonna find that funny or you won't. Personally, I enjoy Rick and his antics, and I have no problem with irresponsible cartoon dads. As long as they don't cross the line toward Modern-Peter Griffin territory, I've got no problem with dads like Rick, who I believe has never even got that bad. Still, some people might think differently, and I can't blame them. Because after getting great cartoon dads like Greg Universe, I can understand if some people won't be interested in characters like Rick Mitchell.

Rick’s and Katie’s relationship: Alongside the top-notch animation and gut-busting comedy, Rick and Katie's relationship is what I consider the movie's most essential asset. These two are the main characters of the film, and as such, they develop through each other. And what's crazy is that they have very conflicting goals. Katie wants to escape and be with her people, where Rich just wants one last chance to have a good memory with Katie before she leaves. To do so, they first have to understand each other. Katie has to learn why Rick is so desperate to spend time with her, and Rick has to realize why Katie is, well, Katie. What I love most about it is that they try. These two don't spend the entire movie arguing and being at each other's throats until a sudden "Oh" moment in the end. No, there are actual moments when they genuinely try to understand one another and fix their relationship. It's nice to watch, and I especially love when it cuts to Linda and Aaron celebrating each time Katie and Rick get closer to each other. When recommending this movie, I'd say come for the animation and comedy, stay for the phenomenal relationship building.

Monchi: There are probably people already comparing Monchi to Mater or the Minions due to being a comic relief with nothing else to add...but gosh dangit, do I love this little gentleman. Maybe it's because I'm a dog person, but I find Monchie to be incredibly adorable, and I will fight anybody who disrespects this king of kings. Probably not physically, 'cause I'm a wuss, but I will verbally. So WATCH IT!

“HeLlO. i Am DoG.”: Have I mentioned that this movie is funny?

Rick’s videotapes of him and Katie: And right there. Rick's motivation for everything is set in stone through a solid case of visual storytelling.

PAL: The writers do almost everything they should have with this character. PAL might not have the most creative evil plan in the world, but to me, a villain can have a generic scheme as long as they're funny. Thankfully, PAL is funny. Not only is the idea of a smartphone ruling the planet hilarious in all the right ways, but Olivia Colman delivers such a great cynical energy that the character needs. The way PAL reacts to people explaining why humans are worth living is just the best, and her flopping around in a fit of rage successfully gets to me.

If I had to nitpick, I'd say that I wish PAL had more of a meaningful resolution to her character. The movie builds up that she makes a big deal about Mark dropping her, so it feels weird that neither of them really get any actual closure with each other. I'll get more into that in the dislikes, but I wish PAL had more of a fitting end than just dying after accidentally getting dropped in a glass of water. Other than that, she's a great comedic villain for a comedic movie.

PAL MAX Robots: These guys are the funniest characters in the movie. Half of it is the bits of visual humor, while the other half comes from the solid line delivery from Beck Bennett. Especially with Bennett's and Fred Armisen's Eric and Deborahbot 3000. These two are definitely the comedic highlights, as nearly every line they say is both hilarious and kind of adorable at times. And just like with Monchi, if you dare disrespect these characters, I will fight you. Because they are funny, and I will not hear otherwise.

PAL demonstrating what it’s like to be a phone: Have I mentioned that this movie is funny?

(Don't disrespect your phones, kids. Otherwise, they'll try to take over the world.)

PAL turning off the Wi-Fi: Again, have I mentioned this movie is funny?

“I love the dog. You love the dog. We all love the dog. But at some point, you’re gonna have to eat the dog.”: It's the sick jokes that get to me the most. Everyone booing Rick afterward is just the cherry on top.

Attack of the Furbies: Have I. Mentioned. That this movie. Is funny?

Seriously, if you haven't lost your s**t during every second of this scene, then you never had to deal with the demonic entity that is a Furby. In a way, I commend you. But you also don't get to appreciate the comedic genius of all of this. So I also weirdly feel bad for you.

The Mitchells deciding how to celebrate: You don't have a real family if you spend more time arguing about how to celebrate after saving the world than you do about how to save the world. I don't make the rules. I just abide by them.

The PAL MAX Primes: There's not much to say about them. The PAL MAX primes look and act pretty cool, are brilliantly animated, and raise the stakes while still being funny at times. I love 'em, but I don't have much to analyze with them either.

The origin of the moose: ...I'd make the "I didn't need my heart anyway" joke, but to be honest, it's still shattered after WandaVision.

(For real, though, this is a really effective scene that establishes why Rick makes a big deal with the moose and why he might feel hurt that Katie is willing to disregard it completely)

The Theme of Technology and Social Media: There's a theme about how family is important, and working hard on making things work is worth the effort. But that's a bit too generic for my tastes, so instead, I'm gonna talk about the equally important message this movie has about technology. Because as twisted as she is, PAL makes a great point. The technology we have today helps us in a variety of ways. It's especially useful with sites like YouTube, allowing content creators like Katie to reach out and share their voices. The only issue with technology is how people use it. Take note that the main reason why the Mitchells stand a chance against PAL is by using her own tech against her. Yes, over-relying on all the advancements around us can be dangerous, but if we're smart with how we use them, we can get by just fine. This movie isn't about purging all technology like most robot apocalypse stories are. Instead, it's about using it correctly and not being helpless sheep the second the Wi-Fi gets turned off. Which might just be the most unique thing this movie has going for it story-wise (more on that later).

The Climax: The Mitchells vs. The Machines has everything that I think I climax should have. First off, it utilizes callbacks and jokes that I wouldn't have thought twice on actually coming in handy for how the Mitchells win the day. But showing that Monchi causes the robots to malfunction turns a pretty "eh" joke into a solid case of foreshadowing.

Second, everyone does something. Some characters do more than others, sure, but the fact that every Mitchell, even Monchi, has a hand in beating PAL and her robots is a great sense of writing to me. It shows that you really can't cut anyone from the main cast, as they each add value to how they are essential to the plot. Even Aaron, who arguably does the least in the climax, still manages to be the catalyst to what is easily the best scene in the movie. Speaking of which...

Linda Kicks Ass: By the way, that's the actual name on the soundtrack. I'm not even kidding. Check it.

Anyways, for the most part, Linda seemed like a decent cartoon mom. She's insanely supportive but still has the common sense to keep her foot down, like agreeing with Rick to stay safe in the dino stop the second the apocalypse starts. A pretty fun character, for sure, but nothing too noteworthy...but the second she loses her s**t, Linda Mitchell frickin' SKYROCKETS to the best-cartoon-mom territory! Believe me when I tell you that seeing her slice and dice robots like a middle-aged female Samurai Jack is as awesome as it is hilarious. Does it make sense how she can suddenly do this? No, but at the same time, who gives a s**t about common sense?! Because this moment was epic, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching it over and over again.

Rick Learning How to Internet...Again: I consider this the funniest moment in the movie. Trust me, the Furby scene is a close, close, CLOSE, second...but I think this scene was funnier.

The final goodbye: This is what I'm talking about when I say humor adds to the dramatic moments. The Mitchells saying "I love you" in moose is pretty funny, but it's also a sweet moment given that this is absolutely how this family of weirdos would say goodbye to each other. And, yeah, I got a little misty-eyed during this scene. Especially when Rick saw Katie pocketing the moose. That s**t just cuts deep, man.

Alex Hirsch Voices a Character: ...That's it. I look up to Alex Hirsh as everything I want to be as a creator, and the fact that his name is on this movie fills me with joy. He's also a story consultant, so that can also explain why the movie turned out as great as it did...although there are some imperfections.

WHAT I DISLIKE

Katie-vision: What's Katie-vision? Well, throughout the movie, we get to see how Katie views the world as there are these hand-drawn elements that look like effects Katie would add if she was the one who made the movie. At times it can be subtle and cute, like when this little beating heart appears when Katie is talking with Jude and her other friends. It's when the movie is in your face with Katie-vision does it get annoying. Like showing how Katie is lying about being certain she can drive up a vertical ramp or signifying what is the Rick Mitchell Special. Even if you justify that this would be how Katie would edit the movie, it still doesn't change how obnoxious these moments can be. For instance, Monchi is justified to be essential for the plot, but that doesn't mean people won't hate him...I'll still fight them if they do, but that's beside the point.

I can totally accept this being a personal issue, as I'm sure some people enjoy it. As for me, I think Katie-vision works best when used subtly instead of crudely.

The Meme humor: It's something similar here. Because some people like meme humor...but I don't. To me, it just dates your story if you reference memes even once. Now, a show, movie, or book being partially dated is nothing new. We Bare Bears, a series that I love, reference memes, apps, and social media constantly. Yet, the show still has a timeless feel to it as it doesn't rely on those references too much. The Mitchells vs. the Machines doesn't rely on memes as much either. But even then, that doesn't make a difference about how annoying that gibbon monkey joke was. Seriously, what the f**k was that? And how is THAT the joke that gets used twice!?

Underutilizing Mark Bowman: It really bothers me how this guy barely does much. I mean, Mark Bowman is the main reason that anything happens in the movie. Because he mistreated PAL, Mark acts as the catalyst for events to come. So the fact that he could have been written out the second PAL takes control doesn't make sense to me. It's worse since I could see more potential with his character through his relationship with PAL. These two could be anti-Rick and Katie, as Mark and PAL show what happens when people disrespect their family. So separating them halfway through the story, and keeping them as such, is a huge mistake as it results in neither having a proper resolution to their arcs. Like I said, Rick and Katie develop through each other, and the same could have happened with Mark and PAL. It doesn't, making it something that I can't help but feel disappointed about.

The Poseys: These are characters I feel like work better with multiple appearances. Sure, they only have the one joke about being a perfect family, but at the same time, you can make a joke like that work. Look at Yvonne from Shaun of the Dead (Which might just be my favorite movie). That's a bit-character whose only purpose is showing how better she is than Shaun despite being in an eerily similar situation. But she works well as we constantly see how great she's doing in every instance we see her. The same could be done with the Poseys, as using a similar joke for one scene is underutilizing great potential to make an already good movie into a better one.

Plus, if you're gonna shoehorn in a romance between Aaron and Abby Posey, the least you could do is have more than one scene developing that...just saying.

Katie’s and Rick’s “Oh” Moments: I want to make it clear that I actually like these scenes. They're well written and effectively emotional. My problem is that they also happen two seconds apart. There's nothing wrong with having a character realize the error of their ways through a tear-jerking moment. It's a popular tactic for a reason. And given how both Rick and Katie are the protagonists, they both need their own "oh" moment. But you gotta space them out, as it makes things easier to see the emotional manipulation that you're clearly trying to pull on the audience. They work, but putting them back to back is an issue easily solved with at least two minutes of padding, not two seconds.

Katie’s Death Fakeout: This is one of the few instances that a joke doesn't work in the movie, made even more annoying with the fact that I could see the punchline a mile away and kept thinking, "Just get to it already." I'm pretty sure no one bought this, especially when Katie didn't look like she could have gotten killed in any way after throwing PAL. It's poorly handled and proof that even the funniest comedies have a stale joke every now and again.

Nothing New is really being done here: Keep in mind that in terms of style, this movie is incredibly innovative. And here's hoping future animated projects can take notes. But narratively speaking? Yeah, there's nothing really new that this movie is offering.

A story about how technology will be the death of us? Been there.

A story about a group of idiots miraculously saving the world? Done that.

A story about a father forcing their teenager on a road trip so they can spend quality time with each other, thus ruining the teen's chance of hanging out with their girlfriend? Believe it or not, I have seen A Goofy Movie...multiple times...both as a kid and as an adult.

Now, I have no issue with a movie's plot being a bit by-the-books, and in some cases, cliche. If done effectively, and if I still have a good time, I don't think there’s much to complain about. And there isn't with The Mitchells vs. The Machines. The problem lies with that I'll forget this movie along with the dozens of others like it in a couple years. Which might just be the biggest issue any film can have.

---------------------

Overall, I'd give The Mitchells vs. the Machines a well-earned A-. It has nitpicks, sure, but it's still a blast to watch. It might not be innovative or groundbreaking as movies like the last Sony Pictures Animation movie, Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse. However, it is fun. And when the world is burning down around us, it's nice to have a fun movie that can distract us from all of it. So feel free to log in to Netflix the next time you're in the mood for a film that is great for the whole family. You won’t be disapointed

(And I will talk about The Falcon and the Winter Soldier pretty soon. I just needed to get this out of my system first.)

[bi-writes]

notorious: reboot — chapter nine mercy

I’m not sorry I did it; I’m just sorry it had to be you.

type: series, alternate universe detail: mob!tom word count: 12.2k warnings: mature language and themes, including violence and character death series masterlist music playlist by mood, curated just for notorious

Fear was supposed to be relative, but it was more than that to you. Fear was motivation. Every time you were afraid, your instincts took over, and it was the reason you were still alive. Survival was the only strategy here, and it had you by the throat every single day. For a long while, it was the only emotion you knew. Your father was always keeping you on edge, and you were always sleeping with one eye open and a hand on the gun under your pillow. You had never known safety. Not even when your mother had been around.

If it wasn’t your father you were afraid of, then it was everyone else. There was a reason you never opened yourself up to anyone in your world. While you fell for Mariposa, in a rhythm of selfless love that you were eternally grateful for, you were quick to leave her when things were starting to fall apart. You had only loved her distantly, not enough for you to completely absorb the gravity of your relationship, and it’s why it was so easy for you to leave and so easy for you to forget her. It was wrong, of course it was, and you vowed to make up for it every single day, but to you, it was the only way to survive. If there was no one you loved, you had nothing to lose. You could throw yourself headfirst into foreign territory, and the only weapon others could hold in front of you were the ones you knew how to handle.

Giovanni, Viktor, the men you had encountered in your life, they never realized how dangerous you truly were. There was nothing more perilous than a woman that had nothing to lose. It made the killing easy and the conquering even easier.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, blinking as your eyes ran over your figure. You were glowing, your skin still glistening from the warm sheets you had rolled out of. There were bruises littered all over your body, dark marks in clusters around your hips. Your neck had been nipped and kissed at until you had fallen asleep, and you felt hot all over remembering how you got them. You fastened your belt around your jeans, and then you tugged on the dark tank top. You fastened the thigh holster over the fabric of your jeans, slipping your gun into it, and then you sat down on the bed as you laced up your heeled boots.

Tom came out of the bathroom, in sweats and nothing else, and to him, it looked as if you were getting dressed for battle. He picked up your leather jacket from the bed, and when you stood up, he held it up for you so you could slip your arms into it. You turned around to face him, and you both stood in silence looking at each other.

You waited a few moments before you hugged him tightly, and Tom wrapped his arms around you protectively, putting his head into the crook of your neck as he hugged you back.

“I’m scared,” you whispered finally.

I am terrified.

Tom closed his eyes, one hand going into your hair to soothe you, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ve talked about this.”

“He’s lying to me, Tom. Whatever plan we had…he’s lying to me, Tom. I can feel it,” you said weakly, pulling away to look up into his eyes. You needed him to see how serious you were. “He doesn’t want me to win, Tom. He’s using me…I know he is.”

Tom smiled a bit, rubbing a thumb across your chin. It was subtle, but his touch was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’m not worried, y/n,” he said finally, looking at you carefully. “I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. What the fuck is there to worry about?”

“The plan going to absolute shit,” you argued, putting your hands over his. “My father lying to me yet again, and…and then us losing.”

Tom shook his head, “we’re not going to lose, y/n. Your father is good at many things, and underestimating you is one of them. If he lied to you, then he’s only fucked himself over again. You and me? We’re the most dangerous when it doesn’t go as planned. Because then it’s just up to us, and we’ve survived this long. I’ve seen what you can do, y/n. I’m not worried.”

You leaned up a bit to kiss him, winding your fingers through his damp curls, and he made a point to suck on your bottom lip lovingly, and you exchanged a few gentle laughs as you held onto each other. You leaned your forehead against his, sighing deeply, taking in the way he smelled and how sweet he tasted. Tom could say whatever he liked, but your heart was pounding, and the uncertainty of what your father would do had you by the throat. If he had it inside of him to kill your mother, then he had it inside of him to kill you. Your father didn’t know what love was. He was incapable of it. All he knew was how to win, how to step on top of others to get to where he needed to be, and for a while, you thought that that was the only way to get what you wanted.

Tom had taught you differently. You couldn’t always step on others, sometimes you had to get down in the dirt and show that you were worthy of it. You wouldn’t get anyone’s respect by just shedding blood. There were men in this world that didn’t respond to that, and Tom was one of them. You had shown him what you were worth, and he fell for that, and so had you. Taking what you wanted was risky, but earning what you deserved was always enough. You had earned your place here. You had to be different than your father. Your father was a ticking time bomb, and he was going to get himself killed and you with him if you weren’t careful. You were so blinded by his treasures that you had no idea how precarious his position was. Your father was one wrong move from his own downfall, and when it happened, you couldn’t be there to fall with him.  

You had to be better.  

In Los Angeles, your father and his men were animals. Tearing apart anything that threatened their territory, blind rage that controlled their entire beings, with no disregard to what they left behind in their wake. You had been buried underneath it all, forced to watch and never allowed to make change. Your father had made sure you were always on a leash, and he made you believe that it was meant to be there. He made you believe that you had to have his permission to take the chains off, to be more than just his little girl, to be you.

You weren’t an animal. Your father’s hold on you wasn’t real.  

“Your father is going to tell you a lot of things tonight. All of them will be lies.”

Despite your mother becoming a scared, manipulative liar, she always told the truth when it came to your father. She hated him as much as you did, and on that, you could count on her.  

Tom nudged you out of your thoughts. You had made your way downstairs, and you were waiting for a car. Tom opened the door for you, and you got into the back. Tom shut the door behind you, and you rolled down the window, looking up at him.

“Hey,” Tom put a hand on your cheek, shaking his head. “After tonight…I’ll take you away from here for a while. We’ll get the fuck out of this city, just for a little while. I promise.”

You put your hand over his, nodding in agreement, not daring to say anything or your voice might have broken. There was love in his eyes, and you never wanted to look away.

“y/n, I’m going to take care of you,” he voiced, leaning his forehead against yours. “Just breathe.”

You did. You let Tom hold you close for a moment longer, and you finally let out a long breath. It came out shaky and weak, but Tom held you still, rubbing his thumb across the apple of your cheek gently.

“I’ll see you tonight, love,” he murmured, and you nodded, sitting up a bit to kiss him one last time, and Tom could tell you didn’t want to pull away. You were nipping at his bottom lip, holding him close, keeping the kiss soft as you held onto him for as long as you could. He pulled away slowly, just to breathe, and he wiped away a stray tear that had fallen halfway down your cheek. He planted a soft kiss onto your forehead before letting go, and you rolled up the window and tapped on the drivers’ seat. You needed him to drive or else you were just going to stay with Tom, trying to avoid whatever was going to happen tonight.  

I’d hold onto him and make him run away with me. And I would never look back.

You didn’t even realize the car had stopped until someone tapped on the window, drawing your gaze from your boots back upwards. De Luca was there, and you unlocked the car door, and he opened it for you, offering you a hand to help you onto the sidewalk.  

You looked up at the warehouse in front of you, a building you had become familiar with the past few months in New York. Your father ran his operations out of Queens, in a warehouse tucked between residential office buildings, and since you had landed here six months ago, you had frequented the place to talk to De Luca and familiarize yourself with how business was on the East Coast.  

And to learn, because he won’t teach me himself.

You had developed a rapport with your father’s men here. You visited Mariposa’s father many times in his office here, talked into the early hours of the night with De Luca, and met up with your father’s men to help them do their own jobs in the city. You were a welcome face here. Your father’s men had become your men, and they followed you as loyally as they had him.  

Maybe even more so.

You knew their names. You didn’t snap your fingers at them or yell at them. You liked to sit at their desks with them and share a drink, listen to what they had to say, and you made changes to certain operations based on their feedback. You sat with your father’s accountants and even tried to pick up a few new tricks from them. You had high expectations for them, and his men had grown to adore you so much that they fought to exceed those expectations. They had been starved for a long time of authority, and they welcomed yours. They appreciated the way you heard them, the manner in which you helped them, and that you were always there when they needed you. You were present and not just commanding, and for a long time they had been waiting for someone to come along to prove to them that all of this work was worth it.

You were worth it.  

The revenue you were bringing in was enough proof that you were what they had been waiting for all along. There had been many nights where you sat on the warehouse floor with many of your father’s men, laughing and helping them count money, helping them put files together, finalizing plans and giving approval when they felt they needed it. You tried not to just be a face they never saw but were forced to obey. You wanted to be seen and known, and you wanted them to know that they mattered. Tom’s philosophy of men as family had struck you as something important, and treating your father’s men as family worked. They wanted to listen to you, they wanted to do right by you, and if they didn’t have the answers, they tried hard to answer those questions they were unsure of.

You have to be better.

De Luca opened the door for you, and you entered with a nod of your head at him. Your boots sounded against the linoleum floors, and all of your men were acquainted with it, looking up as you passed them, waving, smiling, greeting you warmly.

“Good morning, Miss y/n.”

“Hello, boss.”

“Good to see you, Miss y/n, how are you?”

“Good morning.”

You nodded at them, giving them tight smiles as you walked past their desks, crossing your arms over your chest. You glanced at the papers, watched as money orders flew past you in crates. It was almost the afternoon, but the warehouse was always busy with work. De Luca grabbed your attention, a hand on your arm, and you followed him into his office. He shut the door behind you, and you sat down at his desk, despite it being his, and he allowed you to. You folded your hands in front of you, taking a deep breath.

“Has he come yet?” You asked him, and De Luca leaned back in his chair.  

“He came last night,” he answered, nodding, and you pursed your lips.

“What…what did the boys think?” You wondered. “Did they like him?”

“Well…you know personnel here is fairly new. The few that had met your father before weren’t very friendly, and your father had a few things to say about…the way things are done here,” he said simply, and you rolled your eyes.

“Right, cause everything I touch is tainted to him,” you sighed. “Was Muñoz here to say hello?”

De Luca nodded slowly, “yeah. But you know how that is. Ever since your mother’s been gone, he hasn’t been keen on meeting with your father.”

You looked down for a moment, tapping your fingers nervously on the desk in front of you.  

“He came with some demands, didn’t he?” You inquired, and De Luca reached over to pull a paper out from a folder on his desk. He showed it to you, and you looked down at it. They were potential locations for Holland operations, most of which were wrong, you could tell just by looking at it.  

“Your father doesn’t wait. He’s already having us look for where they store their supply,” he told you. “He wants locations secured immediately so he can put our guys in there tonight. After…the wedding and all.”

You met De Luca’s eyes for a moment. You wondered what he thought about all of this. You wondered if he was on your father’s side, the idea of getting rid of Tom Holland and acquiring everything his name entitled him to. You looked at the rest of the papers on the desk.

“He’s going to London?” You raised a brow, looking at an itinerary that was printed out. “Is he serious?”

“As soon as he has his acquisitions, Miss y/n, he plans on making it known,” De Luca explained, and you swallowed the anger inside of you. Your father wouldn’t even wait to let Tom’s body get cold. He wanted to take Holland territory, and he wanted it in a matter of days.  

“Maybe I can help,” you took a pen off the desk and started crossing out the locations on the list that you were certain Tom was located in. For the time being, you didn’t want your father getting the upper hand. The rest were addresses you didn’t recognize, and you gave the list back to De Luca. “Give this new list out.”

“But your—”

“I know what my father wants,” you smiled bitterly at him. “Either you can give this to the boys, or I will. If I have something to say, you know they’ll want to know it. I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation, De Luca.”

He swallowed a bit, nodding his head, “yes, Miss y/n. I apologize.”

De Luca got up from his seat and left his office to go distribute the list. You rifled through the papers on the desk, just glancing at the contents, but it was enough to know that your father was looking to completely absorb Tom and all he had in the next 24 hours. He wasn’t waiting for you, he wasn’t waiting for Tom, he was just going to take what he wanted. You shoved the papers away from you angrily, putting your head into your hands, your heart pounding into your chest. One mistake, and everything would be swept out right from underneath you, and Tom would be dead. You tried to remember how calm Tom had been in the morning, but it only made you panic inside even more.

It’s all gone to shit. Maybe daddy’s right. When push comes to shove, what am I capable of accomplishing? What am I doing?  

“Hey, Miss y/n, is everything okay?” A knock followed the gentle question. You looked up from your hands, smiling just a bit and nodding.  

“Yes, Jacob, I’m okay,” you stood up. “How…how did things go last night? Did you get the shipment to Brooklyn alright?”

“Yes, Miss y/n, everything went just fine. We would’ve called if it hadn’t,” he tried to smile back at you, and you walked to meet him, following alongside him as he made his way back to his desk.

“Right,” you nodded your head. “Of course. Uh…do you boys have anything else planned for today?”

“No, Miss y/n. Just to attend the meeting tonight,” he told you. You narrowed your eyes.

“What meeting?”

“The…” He frowned a bit, cowering under your eyes. “Yours. He…said last night that his…little girl was getting hitched. I thought that must mean you, right?”

You gave him another smile, but it was only to cover up the worry building up inside of you. You had no idea why your father needed your men to attend your meeting, but there was an impending alarm going off in your head at the thought. There was no need for your men there, but your father clearly had different plans.  

“Your father is going to tell you a lot of things tonight.”

“Yes, Jacob. That’s me.”

“All of them will be lies.”

You decided not to ask him anymore questions. Word could have gotten around that you were asking about the meeting, and it would tip your father off. You needed everything to go as he thought it would.  

You stayed in the office with De Luca for a few hours, going over usual business with him. You were keeping track of the money orders that had to be cashed through your subsidiaries, and De Luca was telling you about some shipments you were expecting the next week. You watched the clock move as you worked, and as it counted into the afternoon, you felt yourself growing more and more anxious. You had trouble concentrating on work you normally enjoyed doing. The numbers in your head had stopped making sense, and you grew farther and farther away from focus.

“y/n,” De Luca said finally, snapping you out of your thoughts.  

“Huh?” You looked over at him. “W-What?”

“What’s the matter with you? You’ve been working on that spreadsheet for too long.”

“Sorry,” you looked down. “I’m just…thinking.”

“Something’s wrong,” De Luca observed. “You’ve been like this all day, y/n. What’s bothering you?”

You looked into his eyes, fiddling with your fingers. You put the pen down that you were holding, leaning over the desk. “What…what do you think of Mariposa? Of me?” You asked. “Be honest. I won’t…I won’t be upset.”

De Luca leaned back in his chair, staring at you for a moment. He was thinking about whether or not to answer before he crossed his arms over his chest, shrugging, “I think…you’re my girls. What can I say?” He sighed. “I’ve known you since you were a little girl, y/n. Mariposa, too. It would kill me if anything happened to you, you know that.”

“I know how you feel about us,” you said, pursing your lips. “I’m asking what you think of us.”

“I think…” De Luca moved his head from side to side, “that before you came back, things weren’t getting done around here. These boys…we were just picking them off the street, and they were lost. They responded to orders poorly, and it was difficult to control things here when there was no one here with some sort of real authority. I think they felt like they were working for ghosts, and then…you came along. My boys adore you, y/n. It’s not a secret. They like when you’re here, they feel…supported when you go with them on jobs, and…they want to impress you. Things are better here. Honestly, y/n, I wish you could stay after tonight.”

Oh, De Luca…why do you lie to me?

You tilted your head to the side, “why wouldn’t I stay?”

De Luca’s eyes snapped up to yours, and he paled a bit, shifting in his seat, “no, of course…yeah, of course you’re staying.”

You scoffed a bit, shaking your head. Your father was so predictable. Giovanni here, his men prepared to come to your meeting, and he was already planning on sending you back home. Your father was going to put that leash back on you tonight. You had done your job, like a good girl, but he was never going to accept you into his arms. He was never going to give you a chance to be anything more than a little girl.

He’ll never let me go. No matter how many times he kisses me, coddles me, assures me differently. He’ll never leave me be.

You stood up from your seat, leaving the office as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. You waited for it to ring, and it didn’t take long for Mariposa to answer.

“y/n,” she greeted you, and you looked around you to make sure no one was listening before you talked.

He’ll tie weights to my ankles and throw me in the fucking deep end. He’ll watch me drown, and he’ll be smiling as I disappear into darkness.

“Hey, Ri. I need you to do something for me.”

You hadn’t always been this way. You weren’t always so cold inside, so dead inside, so unfeeling and unforgiving. You remembered when you were younger, the innocent presence you used to carry with you always. You used to be quiet, a little bubbly, always smiling, and your mother had been your best friend. You didn’t always see darkness in yourself, and you didn’t always hate what you saw in the mirror.

You had changed the moment you saw blood for the first time. Seeing the carpet of your father’s study rolled up into the corner, spilling crimson everywhere, threatening to stain your toes if you had stepped in it. There were always moments when you wished you had just been good. You wished you had stayed in your room, you wished you hadn’t been so curious, you wish you had just done as your father had asked you to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so fucking hard to look at yourself in the mirror, maybe you wouldn’t have to put a mask on every single day, maybe you wouldn’t have ever seen the way stars fill someone’s eyes right before they died.  

So many stars, sparkling like a million lights. I’m taught not to stop until the lights go out, until the stars twinkle and wash away.

You saw Viktor sometimes when you closed your eyes. You remembered how sticky and warm his blood had felt seeping between your fingers. You remembered how sharp the glass was in your palm, how it cut your skin and dug into the back of his spine. You remembered how afraid you had been after it was over, how quickly the adrenaline had faded from your body so there was only an unnerving, malicious emptiness left behind. You remembered staring at yourself in the mirror afterwards. You looked so different now. You had never killed someone like that. It was easy to kill when you held up a gun and pointed it, shooting aimlessly. They were always so far away, just ants in the distance, and you would watch them drop, emotionless because you never saw their faces or knew their stories or spoke to them.  

Maybe the stars are the memories they hold inside. Maybe they see good things right before they glimmer and fade away. Maybe they see serenity.

Viktor haunted you in your dreams. The spiders you once saw in your sleep had changed into blood, and you would wake up now, your head filled with the choking feeling of slow-moving, thick, sour blood coming out of your mouth and down your nose and from your ears and in tears that fell from your eyes. You would wake up tasting copper, smelling iron, and you would feel like you were stuck still in that bathroom, Viktor’s blood still wrapped around your legs and covering your arms and painted across your face.  

Or maybe the stars are their sins. Maybe they see hell.

You could still see that woman in the mirror now. No matter how many times you washed your hair or scrubbed your face or scratched at your arms, you would see glimpses of that woman in the mirror, and she would terrify you. That woman was capable of horrific things. That woman had tasted blood, and she liked it. That woman had an appetite for power, and that woman would do whatever she wanted to get it. Blood had become her armor, and she had no idea what mercy felt like. She only knew pain and misery and anguish, and it had consumed her completely. You tried so hard to see someone else in the mirror, but it was no use. Like the blood in your dreams, she was covering you completely now, building up a new mask, a better mask, one that would be impenetrable, a mask only she could take off, but you knew she would never want to. That woman was you, and you didn’t have a clue how to escape her.

Maybe because you really don’t want to.

“You look beautiful,” a voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked behind yourself in the mirror to see your father standing there in the doorway, adjusting his watch on his wrist. He was wearing a dark suit, and you could see his infamous gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. You sat up a bit taller on your vanity chair.

Maybe you need her.

“Daddy,” you breathed, and he came up behind you, staring at you in the mirror.

“You look different,” he murmured, putting a hand on your shoulder, and you nearly smacked him away from you. Instead, you plastered a smile on your face, and your eyes widened with surprise.

“I’ve learned so much, daddy,” you said softly, putting your hand over his. “You would be so proud. Did you hear about all our work at the office? Everything we’ve done?”

“I did,” he chuckled a bit, leaning down and kissing your head. You closed your eyes at that. “You’ve done so well, sweetheart. Your mother would be so delighted.”

“He doesn’t deserve you. And he never has. He never will.”

Your lips quivered at that thought, and it took everything inside of you not to shake. You held back the tears already forming, swallowing down the sob in your throat. You nodded finally, opening your eyes. There were faint tears in your eyes, and your father sighed when he noticed.

“y/n, you’ve given me everything back,” he turned you to face him, and you looked up at him. “New York…the Hollands…London. You…” He put his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs stroking over your skin. Every touch from him felt like he was tainting you, rotting you from the outside in, but you didn’t move. “We will be unrivaled after this, just…untouchable, y/n.”

Unbreakable.

You felt weak, sitting there under him, letting him touch your face and hold you and kiss you. There was nothing you could do but pretend, play along, and you felt like you needed to bathe as he ran his knuckles down the length of your face. He disgusted you to no end. He had the audacity to call himself your father, but he was nothing but a broken, empty, merciless sadist. You didn’t realize how much you truly hated him until this moment. You felt a burning desire to open the balcony doors and toss him thirty stories over, but instead, you smiled, cried, called him family, and you felt begrimed with yourself for letting him go even this far with you.  

I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes there are no leashes on me any longer. I wonder what he will say when he realizes I’m not his. I wonder what he will do when I take back what’s mine.

You stood up from your seat, standing beside him in the mirror. You were wearing a white strapless dress, a corset hugging your figure until your hips, where the dress flowed out until your ankles. There was a tall slit on one side of the skirt, intentional so you could have easy access to your thigh holster and the gun you would put in it. You reached for the gun sitting on your vanity, but your father put a hand over it, putting it back down.

“You won’t need that, y/n,” he shook his head. “You’re with me now. I’ll protect you.”

You froze, your eyes darting from the gun back to his face. You let go of it finally, and he put it away into one of your drawers. You swallowed, watching him move around in your things.

“Do you think…he’ll try and hurt me?” You asked him, and your father stood up straight. He shrugged finally. There was no concern in his face.

“I would hope not,” he replied, putting a hand on your shoulder. “My men tell me Thomas is quite enamored with you. So…I think tonight will go smoothly, y/n. You did perfectly, baby. He cares for you…he’s been gaining power here…you could not have done better.” He smiled, something sinister in his eyes, brushing your hair back and away from your eyes. “You’re perfect, y/n. And if he tries anything…my men will take care of him. While I’d like him alive to sign away his properties, once you’re married, I’m sure we’ll be able to acquire everything ourselves. Just keep him calm until you’ve signed the papers, y/n. After that, I’ll take care of the rest. Yes?”

“Yes, daddy,” you said obediently, nodding your head. He leaned over and kissed your forehead, and then he let go of you.

“Come. The car is waiting for us downstairs.”

He adjusted his suit jacket as he left your bedroom, and you went to gather your purse, about to stuff your gun into it when your phone began buzzing. You glanced to make sure your father wasn’t near before picking up, seeing Harrison’s name blinking across it. You put the phone to your ear, swallowing.

“Harrison, what is it? This is not a good time,” you hissed lowly.

“y/n, where is Ri?”

His voice came out cracked, a bit shaky, and you frowned. It was then that you realize Mariposa had never checked in with you.

“I…I asked her to do something for me. It shouldn’t have taken long,” you said in a whisper, peeking around to make sure you were still alone.  

“y/n, she’s been…she’s been gone for hours,” Harrison breathed. You closed your eyes, putting a hand to your forehead.

Mariposa, not now. God, not now.

“Shit,” you mumbled, swallowing hard. “Shit, Harrison…shit! Shit…tell Tom it’s gone to hell, Harrison.”

“What?!” Harrison shrieked from the other end. “What the fuck are you talking about?! y/n, we gotta…we gotta get Ri. Tell me where you’re meeting, I’m going to—”

“Harrison, don’t,” you warned him. “You’ll be outnumbered there, and we don’t have time to discuss how to get her out. You leave it to me.”

“y/n, fuck!” Harrison cried. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Harrison, relax,” you whispered. “She can take care of herself. She’s going to be fine.”

Do you truly believe that, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?

“If she doesn’t come out of this, y/n, I’m going to kill you,” Harrison said hoarsely. “I’m going to kill you, y/n, I swear it.”

And I’ll let you.

“Harrison, I have to go—”

“She’s pregnant, y/n,” Harrison snapped. “S-She’s…she’s…”

All the air left your lungs. Your heart completely fell flat in your chest, and your body felt limp and frozen all at once, a coldness going through you that had you chilled to the core. Mariposa hadn’t even batted an eye to do as you asked.  

And I’ve just sent her to her deathbed.

You heard your father coming near, and you hung up quickly, shutting your purse. Your father stood in the doorway, nodding his head, and you slipped your heels on before hurrying towards his outstretched arm. You took it, wrapping your arm around his, following him out of your apartment and downstairs, where he had called a car for you both. De Luca was driving, and you both got into the backseat. You felt around your skirt, almost letting out a scream when you realized you had forgotten your gun, sitting in your vanity drawer.

And I’ve sent myself to my own deathbed.

You gave your father a tight-lipped smile before looking out the window as the car started. You had to keep wiping your hands on your dress because of how sweaty they were becoming. You told yourself that you didn’t need a gun. You were capable all on your own, and you could take down someone double your size without nothing but your heels. A gun was only worth as much as the person behind it, and you were much more than metal and fast bullets. You were human, and you were much more dangerous than any gun you’d ever held.

I have to be. I have to be better.

You could feel your heart pounding, so hard that the blood was rushing in your ears. You were so on edge. You wondered how far Mariposa got before they caught her. You wondered, selfishly, if she finished what she was supposed to do before they got to her. You wondered, helplessly, if she admitted what she had done for you.

You shook your head a bit, putting a hand over your mouth. You had to trust that Mariposa had gotten it done, and that she would keep her mouth shut. Mariposa always, always did as you asked, and she always came through in the end. She would come through for you one last time, you had to trust that. You had to trust that she could take care of herself.

Because if anything happens to her, I will kill myself before Harrison has the chance to.

You were struggling not to shake. You had always prided yourself on being so well composed, even when you weren’t prepared for what was ahead, but nothing was going the way it was supposed to.

The car stopped finally, and neither you nor your father moved from your seat. You turned to look at him, and he met your own eyes.

“I’m scared, daddy,” you whispered finally, and you weren’t lying. “People are going to get hurt, and—”

He reached over and put a hand over yours on your lap, squeezing your hand gently. He shook his head.

“I’m here, y/n,” he said lowly. “Everything will be alright. You have to trust me. I can’t do this without you.”

You can’t do this without me. You can’t do anything without me. You couldn’t do it without your wife, and now you can’t do it without me.

You nodded finally, squeezing his hand back, and he let go of you to pull out the gun tucked into his trousers. It was your father prized possession, his favorite gun, the one with the chrome detailing and scratched metal and wooden accents. It was the gun he used to taunt you with at home, the gun that was always just out of reach, the gun you so desperately ached to inherit. That weapon was a symbol of your father’s power, the first gun he ever owned, and it had gotten him to this place, right here. You stared at it now, and you could not have despised its presence more.

You didn’t need your father’s trinkets to know you had power. You didn’t need to inherit anything from him to know that you were more worthy of his fortune than he ever taught you to believe.  

You didn’t even need his name.

Seeing him check the chamber for bullets brought life back into you. You took a deep breath, and lights flashed in your head, images of everything you had done just to be sitting here, beside him, full of purpose. You closed your eyes as you let out that deep breath, straightening out your posture, letting that breath trickle from your toes all the way up your spine.  

That woman you saw in the mirror? You needed her now more than ever. You couldn’t escape her, you couldn’t be free of her, you couldn’t even decipher who she really was or how she truly came to be, but if you couldn’t be rid of her, you needed to use her. You had gotten yourself to the finish line.

And she will get me past it.

De Luca opened the door for you, and you stepped out onto the sidewalk. You met his eyes for a moment, shutting the door behind you, and he stared at you right back.  

This is wrong. You know it is.

Your father took you by the arm, tearing your eyes away from De Luca’s own. You swallowed as he guided you up the sidewalk, your eyes scanning over the familiar warehouse you had spent the whole day in. Whenever you were working in here, you felt like you belonged, you felt in charge, and you felt safe. You were anything but on edge now, the creaking of the front door making you flinch now. It was dead silent inside instead of the normally bustling warehouse, and all of your men were gone. The office upstairs was lit, but the shades were drawn, and your father guided you up the stairs to go inside.

He was sitting there, in a chair in front of the empty desk, a half-burnt cigarette hanging off his fingertips. Your father let you go, nodding at you, and you came up behind him, putting your hand on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment until your fingers touched his cheek, and you leaned over and kissed the skin there.

I’ll always be yours, and you will always be mine.

De Luca picked up a leather chair from the corner, setting it down beside Tom for you. You took a seat in it, crossing one leg over the other, turning to glance at Tom. Your eyes met for a moment, and it took everything in you to refrain from taking his hand and squeezing it. He just nodded slightly, so slight you could barely see it, and you realized he was telling you that Harrison had told him what happened, that he was aware.

“Mr. Holland, I’m going to have to search your person. Just for…security reasons,” De Luca said lowly, and Tom handed you the cigarette before standing. From the inside of his jacket, De Luca found a pair of brass knuckles and a switchblade, and from his waistband he found a handgun, setting them down on the desk in front of your father, who nodded for De Luca to take them. The door shut behind him, and then it was just the three of you, staring at each other, no one daring to speak for a few achingly long moments.

A bookshelf lined the back wall of the office, piled high with peeling hardcover texts, papers messily sticking out of files, and rusted and dusty trinkets of all shapes and sizes. There was a single lamp in the corner of the office, beside the bar cart, and the yellowness of the bulb flickered every so often, drawing a strange light over the entire room. The shades were drawn for privacy, making the room even darker, and the mahogany desk your father sat behind was spread out with lone papers, empty liquor glasses, and ashtrays filled with ash and cigarettes. It was quiet, nothing but the slight creak of the hardwood floor. You thought this wouldn’t be the most suitable place to die.

I’ll get dust in my starry eyes.

“I’ve got to admit, Thomas, I never thought we’d be here,” your father chuckled, leaning forward and folding his hands together on the desk. Tom’s face was stoic and unreadable, completely blank as he let your father speak. “And I never thought it would be under these circumstances.”

Tom took the cigarette back from you, taking a long drag from it, letting out a breath through his nose. The cigarette glowed for a moment, casting an orange light over his face, and it only made him seem all the more intimidating.  

“Your daughter and I have accomplished much together here,” Tom said simply. “I don’t see a reason to change that.”

“And neither does she,” your father sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying for a long while to get her to marry someone to my liking, but I’m sure you’ve figured out by now how difficult she can really be.”

Tom shrugged, “I find she’s quite agreeable when you simply give her what she wants, isn’t that right, love?”

You didn’t say anything, just shifted in your seat.

“I have to disagree,” your father countered. “It seems the more I give into what she wants, the more she demands. Her desires are insatiable, aren’t they, sweetheart?”

You met his eyes, and it was all you needed to know that he was looking right through you. He smiled finally, and you felt helpless as he leaned back in the leather chair.

He knows. He’s known all this time.

“When did you realize that, daddy?” You asked, just above a whisper, and he shrugged, reaching for his own pack of cigarettes in his blazer pocket. He lit it with a match, tossing the burnt stick onto the desk, and you watched as small tendrils of black smoke rose from the now black bud of the match. The same orange glow came over his face, but it did nothing to make your father any more menacing.  

He isn’t. He’s a small man in clothes that don’t fit. Don’t let him make you feel less than what you are.

“When Viktor came about,” he replied simply. “How did that feel, Thomas? My daughter, killing that Russian leech for you? Convenient, wasn’t it, that he wanted a piece of my daughter…little did he know how skilled she was, how…how well she fared under pressure, how…instinctive murder could be for someone so sweet and innocent. He was quite a problem for you, wasn’t he, Thomas?”

Tom narrowed his eyes a bit, sucking hard on his cigarette, his nose scrunching up for a moment, but he stayed silent.

“But you, y/n…you killed him without a second thought, didn’t you?”

“He was trying to kill me, daddy,” you said stiffly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“No,” your father chuckled. “We always have choices, my darling. You just chose something different.” You blinked, confused. Tom smirked finally, shaking his head as he scoffed. You turned to look at him.

“It was you,” Tom said lowly. “With the Russians, aye?”

You frowned, your head turning to look at your father, whose smile was still plastered eerily on his face.  

“Daddy, that’s not true,” you laughed a bit, nervously. “Tell me that’s not true.”

He was silent for a few moments, still grinning, “you know, y/n…you are smart, but you are terribly blind,” he sighed. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“Did you know Viktor was going to kill me?” You breathed, your whole body on edge as your father let out a cloud of smoke from between his lips. “D-Did you know what he was doing? What he was planning on doing?”

“Of course I did, y/n,” he said easily. “I paid the bastard.”

Your lips parted, and you scoffed, moving to stand, but Tom put a hand on your arm, forcing you back into your seat. You had angry tears in your eyes, and you were glaring at your father, and he was glaring right back.

A small man in clothes that don’t fit.

“I think I can forgive the shit you pulled with the Russians if we can come to a fair agreement,” Tom muttered finally. “We came here to get married. Not discuss family issues. This is between me and you, Mr. y/l/n.”

“You’re right, Thomas,” your father grinned again, nodding his head. “Here’s what I want. I’d like to secure the routes along the Hudson and Staten Island. And—” He paused to suck a long drag from his cigarette, “I want your Brighton contacts.”

Tom chuckled a bit, “no,” and then he shook his head.

“And,” your father continued, producing a paper from the file on his desk. It was the marriage certificate, courtesy from New York city hall. “I want London.”

Your father produced two black ink ballpoint pens, setting them down on the desk for you to sign the paper. You reached instinctively for the gun on your thigh, but you felt nothing. There was nothing there. You had nothing but yourself.

And that has to be enough.

Tom scoffed, “that’s not a deal,” he said simply.  

“And,” your father laughed a bit, “Manhattan. I want it all, Tom. And you’re going to give it to me.”

Take me apart, piece by piece.

“Daddy—”

“You shut up,” your father snapped, standing, slamming his fist on the desk. “I’m so fucking tired of you, y/n. I’m so fucking sick of you talking back to me. I’m so fucking sick of you, thinking that you’re anything but my daughter! You have no place here! Shut your fucking mouth, because your word means nothing here!”

Bury me, so deep you can’t hear me screaming anymore.

“You were never going to make a deal with me,” Tom murmured, calmly taking a drag of his cigarette. “Mmm…you were right, y/n. He’s a crazy prick.”

Your father chuckled darkly, “of course I was never going to make a fucking deal with you, Thomas, are you an idiot? You’re vulnerable here. You did this to yourself. You fell in love with my…e-excuse for an heir, and now it’s coming back to bite you in the fucking ass. That’s what happens when you fall in love, when you put your trust in women like y/n.” Your father picked up his empty glass from the table, finishing it. “They’re snakes. You get fucked. That’s all they do. They take, and they take, and they take from you. They’re uncontrollable, fickle little girls that know nothing of authority or of honor.”

I’ll always come back.

You watched with glassy eyes as he rounded the desk, going for the bar cart by the door. He poured himself a generous glass, and then two more for you and Tom. You met Tom’s eyes, but he just shook his head. Tom was not in charge. It had to be you.

Piece by piece, put me back together.

“You’ll learn that quickly, Thomas,” your father continued, bringing the glasses to you both. “You’ll learn that after you sign your name. You’ll learn that after I take every single piece of you that fucking matters, and you’ll learn, but you’ll never be able to fix your fucking mistakes. You’ll be long fuckin’ dead before you get that chance.”

“Is that why you killed my mother?” You shot back, squeezing the glass in your hand. “For honor?”

Do it again. Over and over again.

Your father laughed hysterically, tossing his head back for a moment.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. It’s because she was useless to me,” he leaned down towards you, shaking his head. “She refused to give me a son. And all she did was try and tell me how blessed I was to have you, y/n. And you know…whatever she did for you, whatever fucking men of mine helped you along the way, I do have something to be thankful for when it comes to you, y/n. You weren’t useless, and that’s why I hate to do this to you. For once in my life, something good came from my fucking family, and you did exactly as I thought you would. Predictable you are, so it was easy.” He kissed your forehead. “You brought Tom Holland to his knees. Just as I thought your beautiful face would.”

My resilience is limitless.

You started to breathe deeper, slower, and your father raised his glass.

“A toast! To the newlyweds.”

At the cue, the door opened, and both you and Tom stood up when all of your father’s men shuffled into the room, your men. Then there was Mariposa, her face covered in running mascara as Jacob, your Jacob, held her by the hair as he pressed a gun to her head. Her hands were tied, her shoes were missing, and she already had a purpling bruise forming on her cheek, a gash near her hairline. Your father was thorough, you would give him that. And for a moment, you regretted getting close to Mariposa, to Tom, you regretted becoming anything more than acquaintances with them because you were powerless now.

You’re wrong.

“There was no missing shipment in Brooklyn, was there?” You asked finally. “All of this…this whole fucking thing…is was bullshit, daddy, wasn’t it?”

Your father shrugged, “what can I say, y/n? I’ve been doing this a long time. These things, acquiring new territory—it takes time! And I’m a patient man, I really am. I do pride myself on waiting for things to fall into my lap rather than getting my hands dirty. You know how it is. When you get to the top, when you are like me, baby, you don’t have to do anything but wait.”

You watched as your father came up to Jacob, putting his hand on Mariposa’s cheek. She cried out as your father kicked her to her knees, and you froze.

You’re wrong. There is nothing more dangerous than a woman in love.

“So what?” You called out. “You have Tom and I sign these stupid papers, and then what?”

“And then I order these men to put a fucking bullet in his head, sweetheart,” your father dragged his knuckles down Mariposa’s cheek. “And then his brothers. And then I take a nice trip to London to take care of my new responsibilities, with you in tow, and that marriage certificate. And then I take what’s rightfully mine.”

You saw your father pull out his chrome pistol, the metal reflecting the yellowing light flickering around you.

“Sign the papers, y/n,” your father said, turning to face you. “Sign them now.”

You stepped forward, but your father pointed his gun at Mariposa, who cried out as he pressed the barrel to her forehead. Tom subtly put a hand on your arm, keeping you still, and his touch brought you back to the ground.  

“I didn’t think Giovanni was telling me the fucking truth,” he chuckled. “He told me you and Thomas were closer than you let on, but I didn’t believe him. Because y/n, I really…for a second I thought maybe you could truly be my blood. But you’re weak, sweetheart. You’re soft. And I thought I taught you better.”

He gripped a handful of Mariposa’s curls, forcing her neck back, sighing, “you can’t have good people in this business. You can’t have people you love. You can’t have strings attached. Because then they end up like this, y/n…” He looked down pitifully at Mariposa’s darkening green eyes. “You end up getting them killed.”

Threaten what she loves, and you find out what she’s made of.

“I’ll sign the papers,” you whispered. “I’ll sign the fucking papers, just…let her go, daddy. Please. Just let her go.”

He nodded his chin towards the desk, and you slowly turned, rounding to the front of the desk. You sat down in his leather chair, picking up the pen and scribbling your name on the line. Your father was quick to pull on Mariposa’s hair again, and Tom growled under his breath before picking up the pen and signing his own name. You let your hands fall into your lap, and then you met Mariposa’s sweet eyes. There were tears in them, but you could see the faint nod of her head, and you felt under the desk, feeling the tape and then the cool hand of the gun she had hid underneath it. You wrapped your hand around it, sucking in a breath.

You are not made of metal and wire.

“There. It’s done,” you said softly, and your father nodded his head towards you and Tom again. His men, your men, held up their handguns to you both, and you stared at all of them. Each of them, you made sure to meet their eyes, searching for anything inside of them besides pure, blinding obedience. De Luca had struggle in his eyes, and you would play on that. You had to.

Your father let go of Mariposa, who slumped down on her knees, her sniffles gentle and soft. You tightened your grip on the gun under the desk.

You are made of skin and bone.

“Do you always have your men do your dirty work for you, daddy?” You interrupted him. “Do they always do just as you say, just like helpless, blind dogs?”

“You’ll never get to find out, my love,” your father said simply, sighing deeply. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go, y/n. I did want you to be a part of this. I did want you to work with me. But…” he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, “you weren’t made for this life. This business…it’s not for you.”

You are made of fire and smoke.

“If you knew me at all, you’d know how full of shit you are,” you snapped. “Do you know what it feels like to kill someone, daddy? Do you know how it feels to…watch them die in front of you? Do you know what it looks like?”

“Of course I do, y/n.”

You scoffed, “you’ve never done it yourself, have you? Not once in your sorry life have you ever done it on your own. You’ve always made good people, people like these men, like me…you’ve always made good people do your bidding. Not once have you ever, ever been man enough to do it yourself, isn’t that right?”

“I’ve given—”

“Orders,” you finished for him, gathering up the saliva in your mouth and spitting at him. “It’s pathetic. You’re a coward. You have no idea what it takes, daddy. All this time…all this time you talk about how much I don’t know about business. You talk about how incapable I am at running things. But you’re wrong. You weren’t made for this business. You’ve never been made for it. You’ve just been pretending. But I will tell you something, daddy…you’re damn good at pretending.”

You are made of blood and tears, memory and starlight, and he has convinced you for so long that what you are made of is something to be ashamed of.

Your father snickered a bit, and you stood up, pulling the gun out from under the desk, holding it up to him, aiming right at his chest. His men all changed direction, from having their guns pointed at Tom to having their guns pointed right at you.  

“y/n…don’t be ridiculous,” your father said, shaking his head. “All of my men, against you? C’mon. Just put it down.”

He told you that because he is afraid. He is afraid of what women can do when they know what they’re made of.

“They’re not your men, daddy,” you said lowly. “They’re mine.”

Your father sighed, running a hand over his face before he brought up his own gun.

“y/n, don’t make me do this,” he said, sounding annoyed. “All of this mess, it’s really not necessary.”

“You’ve never shot that thing,” you laughed bitterly. “Even from this close, you’ll shoot anywhere but at me. But I won’t miss. And you know that.”

A look of doubt crossed his features as he looked at the gun and then back at you. It was true. His gun had been scratched, used, touched, played with, but not a single fleck of gunpowder had ever left the barrel. Your father had never fired a gun, you knew that, but he liked to play with guns anyway. Your father was just a boy in a man’s shoes, and he would always be that way.

“Did you hear me, daddy?” You called him out of his thoughts. “I won’t miss.”

“But my men—”

“They’re mine,” you interrupted him. “I dare you to order them to shoot me. They won’t. I’m not scared of them. Do you have the same faith in them, daddy? Are you so sure they won’t shoot you?”

He is afraid of me. He is afraid of me, and I have him.

Your father laughed, but it was nervous laughter. His voice cracked halfway through, and you knew you had him. You met De Luca’s eyes again, and he slowly, so slowly, lowered his weapon. The rest of the room watched, and after a few tense, silent moments, the guns pointed in your direction were drawn towards the floor. De Luca put himself in front of Mariposa, his body shielding hers, and the look in your father’s eyes was one of complete, utter disbelief.  

You rounded the desk, lowering the gun pointed at your father. You handed it to Tom, who took it gratefully. Your father hadn’t lowered his gun, but you knew the trigger wouldn’t budge.

He still has the fucking safety on.

You stepped in front of him. You had been in front of a gun a few times before now, but it felt different this time. It was strange standing on the other side of a gun you used to admire, a gun you used to worship. On the other side of it, even worse, was a man who had never seen you as anything more than his little weapon, his object of a little girl. You thought you could love him all over again. You thought there was something redeemable in him. You thought that maybe, just maybe, New York would be your chance to change his mind.

“He will never learn until it’s too late, and by then, nothing will be able to save him.”

Your father had no redeemable qualities. He never would. Even now, staring at you in a room where his power meant nothing, he was still trying to put you down.

At the end, all we have left are our words. It is a shame that his will mean nothing.

“You think this means you’ve…become something?” Your father breathed, pressing the gun into your chest. It was cool against your skin. “You think just because you got a room full of men to be on your fucking side that you’re anything but my little girl?”

You stared at him blankly, unmoving.

“You’re still nothing, y/n. You’re still nothing, you’re not ready. You don’t have what it takes to do what I do. You don’t have the fucking…y-you…” He struggled to find the words, and you tilted your head to the side, watching him catch his breath. “You’re still a scared little girl at heart, and just because you’ve been running things in New York, you think you’re prepared to run my empire? You’re as stupid as you look, y/n.”

“Maybe I’m not ready,” you laughed a bit. “But I’m not alone. That’s your problem. Everyone around you is an enemy. Even me, your…your daughter. You don’t have family. You don’t have friends. You push everyone away because you think that being at the top is duty enough for only one man. You isolated yourself, daddy, and now look at you. It’s over, and you’re alone. You pushed everyone away, and it…it killed you.”

“I’m not dead, y/n.”

“You’ll wish you were,” you whispered, shaking your head. His pupils dilated at the sound of your soft voice. There was malice in it, evil, pity. He couldn’t accept that he was the only man against you, he couldn’t accept that for once in his life, he was losing, to you no less. “Put it down. It’s over, dad.”

“It’s not over,” he grunted, putting his finger on the trigger. He hated that you didn’t seem afraid, he hated not being feared. You were so calm, and it was eating at him inside. “It’s not over! It’s not over until I say that it’s over! It’s not fucking over! You’re my daughter! You’re going to turn around, grab that fucking piece of paper, you’re going to put a bullet in Tom Holland’s fucking head, and you’re going to give me what I want!”

He is afraid of me.

“No,” you said softly.

I like this feeling.

“No?!” Your father scoffed. “God, dammit, y/n, I’m not fucking joking around anymore! I’m your father!”

Your throat closed when he pressed on the trigger, his index finger squeezing it hard. The barrel, pointed right at your chest, and from this close, with the metal touching your skin, there was no hesitation. It was a spot to kill, and he had pulled the trigger. But just as you knew, the trigger didn’t move, and you snatched the gun out of his hand, using the back of it and hitting him on the side of the head. You watched him crumple onto the floor, onto his knees, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you watched him bring a shaking hand up to his forehead, touching the fresh wound there, wincing.

The devil does bleed, it seems.

“You’re no one to me anymore,” you said faintly. “You mean nothing to me.”

You couldn’t hear anything anymore. All you could see was white. You didn’t blink, you didn’t think, you just did.  

“Nothing? Nothing?!” Your father laughed. “You’re making the biggest mistake of your entire—”

You just did. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the hatred, or the anger, or the desperation inside of you, the part of you that just wanted to be free. Or maybe it was her, the woman who you needed so badly but who you were ashamed of. It had to be her. She liked blood.

You have gotten yourself to the finish line. And she will get me past it.

You could hear them calling your name, somewhere, far away. They were calling your name, telling you to stop, but you couldn’t. She had taken over you completely, and it was as if you weren’t in control anymore. Anger had devoured you, swallowed you whole, and the woman it spat out was the woman you were hiding from everyone else. You didn’t know forgiveness, not today.

Over and over again, you couldn’t stop. You thought maybe you were screaming, because your throat was starting to hurt. Maybe you were crying, because your face was wet, or maybe it was the blood. Your arm ached, it was tired, but you couldn’t stop bringing it down, over and over again, as hard as the woman inside of you allowed. She was ruthless, she was reckless. She had no mercy, none at all.  

She has no idea what I have in me. She has no idea what I can do, but she’s realizing it, and she won’t let me stop.

Strong arms wrapped around you, yanking you up off the ground. You dropped the gun you were holding, and it clattered onto the floor, but you couldn’t hear it still. There was a ringing in your ear, and all of their voices were distant, detached, faint as you stared down at your father. He was starry-eyed; if you looked away too quickly, you would miss them fading into nothingness.

“y/n! y/n, fuck, stop!”

It was him. His voice came through first, suddenly loud and clear, right in your ear, and you had been screaming, because as soon as the ringing stopped, you could hear your own voice crying out in anger. You closed your mouth, finally quieting.  

“y/n, it’s alright,” he whispered in your ear, not letting you go. You had been kicking and screaming as he held you, trying so hard to break away and let the woman finish her bidding.

Let her finish using me to do what she really wanted to do.

“It’s over. It’s over, baby,” his voice soothed you, soft and honeylike in your ear, and his touch was warm, firm, tight against you. “I’ve got you. It’s over.”

“I-I—” Your voice caught in your throat, and you turned around to face him, hot tears on your face. “I-I don’t know what c-came over me—”

You let out a sob, and Tom put a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into his chest, quieting your cries. Tom made eye contact with De Luca, who understood almost immediately. He undid the ties around Mariposa’s arms before picking up your father’s gun, dripping with blood.  

“What…w-what did I do, Tommy?” You wept into the crook of his neck, “what…what did I do?”

Tom said nothing as he kept you securely in his chest. He stared down at the floor, your father limp and lifeless against the hardwood, his face a mangled, unrecognizable mess of flesh and blood and bone now. For a few moments, Tom hadn’t been able to move. There was a madness inside of you that had rendered him absolutely useless, a blind, merciless hatred enthralled over your entire being that even he had been afraid of. Your father had been reduced to nothing at your hand, and the memory stuck with Tom even as De Luca and your men dragged him out of the room, the door shutting behind them.  

Tom reached a hand out to Mariposa, who was still on the ground, shaking on her knees. She reached for his hand and took it, letting him lift her off of the ground. Tom wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her into his chest, and then Tom had two girls against him, their tears wetting his shirt as he held them together. He closed his eyes painfully, kissing the tops of both their heads.

“It’s alright,” he assured you both. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Mariposa clung to Tom, her arm going around his middle, and she found comfort in his chest, her cheek against it as she hid there. She put her other arm around you, despite the blood all over you, and she held the both of you as close to herself as she could, closing her eyes as silent tears fell down her face.

You opened your eyes finally, turning your head to see Mariposa, her green eyes wide as she opened them to meet yours, too. You reached out with a shaky hand and touched her cheek, wiping away a stray tear, and you smeared blood on her, but she didn’t seem to mind.  

You were a long way from being kids. Far away, miles away, years away. You grew up knowing this sweet face of hers, but now that you stared back at each other, you both knew things were different. This was a long way from cops and robbers, from kiss and don’t tell. You had seen each other do things for one another in the last six months that you never thought you would, and now that you were staring at each other like this, you knew there was nothing that could tear you apart anymore. There was nothing that would ever take you away from her again, from Tom, from Harrison, from your family.

My real family.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out, and Mariposa shook her head, not saying a word as she stared back at you. She didn’t need to say anything. You already knew the answer. Mariposa would do anything for you. It didn’t matter what you asked, she would do it for you, and she wasn’t sorry that she did it for you. She would do it again, even if she knew what would happen afterwards.

You looked up finally, right into Tom’s dark eyes. He was staring down at you, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, and you sucked in a shaky breath at his touch.  

“Tommy,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken. “Why didn’t you…you did nothing. You didn’t stop me…you barely said…a word.”

He shook his head, “it wasn’t my fight, y/n. It had…it had to be you.”

Tom wiped the tears that quickly fell down your face, and you tucked your face back into his chest, his warmth the only thing keeping you together.

It had to be you.

There was a part of you that knew he was right. It did have to be you. Your whole entire life, you had fought with your father. Your fought for his attention, then you fought for his approval, and then you were fighting just to open his eyes. Your entire existence had been dedicated to proving him wrong. More than two decades of your life, you had buried the growing hatred and covered with some kind of mock love, some kind of sense of duty to being your father’s daughter. But you were never meant to be your father’s daughter, no, you were meant to be something else.  

You are meant to be you, and no one else.

You squeezed your hands into fists, and you grimaced to yourself when you felt how sticky your hands were, clammy and thick with blood. When you closed your eyes, there were glimpses, flashes in your memory of the things you had done, the things you had seen. You had seen spiders once inside of you in your dreams, crawling, poisonous creatures with webs that had choked you. Then, you had seen blood, drawing red rivers of tears down the length of your face, war paint that you wore with dread as you swallowed it in metallic-tasting mouthfuls.  

The nightmare you saw now was yourself. You, without decoration; it was just you, with nothing but warm eyes, cool tears, and your bare hands. You, who you saw now, this woman, she was the most terrifying nightmare you could think of. She found her hiding place in you, and she was there to stay. You could see her getting up, feel her making her way into your breaths, drawing fire from your heart, pushing pain into all the places you had closed off before.

No. No, no, no.

Suddenly, she was gone. Tom’s hand cupped one side of your face, coaxing your eyes to open, and you couldn’t help the flow of tears that followed. You were battling yourself, struggling to keep your sanity, but he made you feel like everything was still, calm, unmoving. You just had to focus on him, because if you didn’t, you had no idea where your mind would go.

It would roll and keep rolling, all the way until it fell off the edge. And I can’t see the bottom of this pit inside of me.

“I love you,” you whispered, and nothing could make you feel lighter than the way he looked at you then. His dark eyes softened, growing lighter in color as they stared down at you, and you wished he would always look at you like this because it made you feel whole again.  

“I love you.”

She had no mercy. She was relentless in her efforts to draw you into that hole, that deep, endless whole of nothingness, but she would fail, you knew she would. She would fail each and every time. You knew what would happen every time you nearly tripped over that edge, every time she caught your ankle and dragged you. You knew she stood no chance against Tom. Tom could draw out the parts inside of you that you always kept buried, and he would do it, again and again, for as long as he needed to.  

You knew he would. She had no mercy.

But he does. And he will catch me when I go too far. Every single time.

read chapter ten

[simkjrs]

Is drawing a pale skin character with dark skin dubious when I myself am not dark-skinned? I know the answer should be obvious to me but since I have been getting complaints about it I'm questioning? I'm a pale hispanic artist for reference so I don't know if it makes a difference. However, if its something that makes other people uncomfortable, I will stop if its a valid complaint

speaking as someone who is nonblack and light skinned and also draws characters with darker skin tones than they have in canon: i think its fine to do this, and i think that any artist should make an effort to learn to draw features outside of their own ethnicity/race -- you will be stunted as an artist otherwise. HOWEVER: you should always carefully examine your motives for making one character dark skinned versus another before you commit to that choice. 

as an overall trend, something i’ve seen in fandom is that nonblack people tend to pick the “aggressive” “wild” “rowdy” “violent” characters to make dark skinned. or maybe the only character they’ve drawn dark skinned also happens to be the villain, or controversial for one reason or another. 

while this isn’t necessarily malicious on the artist’s part (maybe just unthinking), it reflects an internal bias about what traits the artist associates with dark skin, and perpetuates racist stereotypes. in this case, even if the artist had good intentions, it would have been better not to try and “diversify” their art in the first place. 

(concrete example of the above: i believe in the naruto fandom there was something of a trend for a while where people would make naruto and kiba dark skinned, but not really anyone else. naruto and kiba are both rather wild and rough characters, associated with animal imagery, etc. so choosing only them to make dark-skinned is really suspect.)

basically, these are the things i would consider before making a character dark skinned: 

if i make this character dark skinned, is it positive or negative representation? i’ve talked about this above, the basic question to ask yourself is “does making this character dark skinned play into any racist stereotypes?” if it does, you should make sure that this character isn’t the only character you’re making dark skinned, and that other characters you choose won’t play into the stereotype; or, consider not choosing this character at all. i can’t tell you what the right answer is but definitely give some thought to who you’re drawing dark skinned. (ALSO be aware of who gets lighter or darker skin -- for example, if you make both the protagonist and the villain dark skinned, but the villain has a much darker skin tone, that is ... not really good... i would advise you to read some articles about colorism)

am i only trying to make this character dark skinned because i want to look good? examine your motives for doing this in the first place! if you’re only doing it because you want to impress your audience with your diversity and openmindedness or something you should probably take a step back and work on that first. 

have i researched how to represent this particular ethnicity/race? it’s good to see representation but if all you do is slap a darker skin tone on a character without changing anything else then its shallow representation at best. this isn’t to say that you have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of every culture on earth so that you can make an informed choice, but for example if you’re going to draw a character as black then you should also look up things like how to draw different kinds of black hair, etc. and above all listen to what people of that race/ethnicity have to say about how to represent them!! there are lots of people on the internet volunteering their time to write these kinds of things so try and do your research! have your friends or beta/sensitivity readers check what you make! 

okay i’ve written quite a bit and i know it may seem quite long and overwhelming, but it is definitely doable and the longer you keep at it the more practiced you’ll get. when you make mistakes (and you probably will), just acknowledge your mistake, apologize, and work hard so you’ll do better next time. 

there are tons of resources out there to help you too. i’ve been following @writingwithcolor for years now as well, and would definitely recommend keeping up with the blog! 

this is just a personal guideline post, so if anyone wants to add onto this or make corrections, please feel free.

[armorsleevedsinglehit]

the huge shippuden music meta

no one asked for this but i’m gonna write it anyway. i’m going to focus primarily on the shippuden soundtrack here, but expect some references to the original series soundtrack as well. also before i begin i know approximately two (2) music so some of my terminology is probably going to be incorrect lol, it’s been a while since college. this is a general shippuden meta but it does focus on the uchiha clan, in particular sasuke and madara.

anyway, to start off, you can pretty easily divide the shippuden soundtrack into a few general categories:

traditional and/or acoustic

electric guitar tracks

some combination of these, plus orchestra hits aplenty

there are a few odd ducks here and there, but no worries, we’ll get to them. and then within these general categories we have a series of recurring character motifs (which can be a bit muddled, because certain themes are used for multiple characters. i assume that naruto (the show) isn’t necessarily scored the way a film would be, and so the directors just slapped whatever dramatic/sad/upbeat music they could find onto a scene, esp if it’s a filler ep, which definitely generates some confusion.) but characters and groups in shippuden DO sort of get their own motifs and themes, so here is my very basic list of those as well:

uzumaki clan and its descendants/allies: “emergence of talents/hyakkaryōran” has a very cool melody towards the end that comes back in “narukami/weeping god” and “shoryu/rising dragon”. we can basically call this the protagonist theme. naruto, sakura, kakashi, jiraiya, most of the konoha 11, and even minato get to claim this one. however, VERY interestingly, narukami is what plays when tobi (as madara) is telling sasuke about the glory days of the uchiha clan... possibly hinting at greater connections between the two clans???????????

akatsuki-related themes: i won’t link a ton of these because they’re super obvious. they’re often full of choir and organ (harkening back to orochimaru’s original series theme); they also tend to be slower. not always, though; look at crimson flames, a slapper if i ever heard one. prime example of akatsuki themes: girei, my FAVORITE bit of the shippuden soundtrack. UGH.

general shippuden themes: things like hurricane suite, heaven-shaking event, etc. most of the first ost goes in here. this category also contains the closest approximation to hashirama’s theme that i could find, experienced many battles and departure to the front lines, which both make me cry lol

there are other fun little motifs and bits and bobs that appear in this soundtrack that i won’t get into here for length (remind me to talk about the angelic herald of death sometime), but it’s a remarkably cohesive piece of work to the point where it gets repetitive sometimes; why are all the super interesting tracks unreleased!!!!??? anyway the purpose of this meta is to attempt to make sense of the way this soundtrack works. we’ll investigate sasuke primarily because i feel that he really ties the whole soundtrack together, and you can extrapolate a lot from the way his theme evolves.

sasuke’s theme (wandering/hyouhaku), yes the dramatic cowboy music theme, is this wonderfully atmospheric track that makes use of the kind of negative space between guitar strums to build up this aura, this Essence of Sasuke. this alone makes it stand apart from other mostly-acoustic pieces on the soundtrack, to me. the whole thing is just humming with this simmering frustration and melancholy and it really gives you a sense of sasuke as this tortured figure who has been severely wronged and experienced the world’s faults firsthand. notably, this version of sasuke’s theme lifts its opening notes (and structure, sorta) from sasuke’s original series theme, which i assume was on purpose. it shows that he’s grown jaded as he got older, i think.

anyway, as the inevitable battle between sasuke and itachi draws closer, we get our first variation on sasuke’s theme: black spot/kokuten. it has the same melody and structure as before, but features heavier guitars, more orchestration, and, in the final bars, notes that previously fell on 1 and 4 but now fall on 1 and 3, which bring a heightened sense of urgency to the whole thing. and more importantly, it ends without resolving itself? it leaves us hanging on this almost call-and-response bit with one wailing guitar after another, before winding the orchestration down and fizzling back down to the level of “wandering.” here we see a sasuke in progress, if you will, working towards a goal that some may find sinister, but he is determined if nothing else, and the instruments match his fervor. it’s roughly analogous to “crimson flames” in terms of intensity, but it’s very distinctly Sasuke.

there are several more variations of sasuke’s theme floating around, but the next one i want to talk about is this one called “sasuke’s ninja way,” apparently, never officially released but relentlessly employed by the anime directors. it takes a more subtle turn than “black spot,” but i don’t see it as a direct sequel to “wandering” for a few different reasons. i think it represents the dilemma sasuke found himself after finally killing itachi and learning the truth about him: the realization that this whole quest for power of his was never really about revenge on one specific person, but rather about reforming the shinobi world as a whole. it’s slower than “black spot,” yet darker, more ominous; it treads the same general path as “wandering” but with added electric guitar, and, notably, choir. recall that choir is often used for themes related to the akatsuki, which i think ties in neatly with sasuke’s motivations at this point. he, like nagato before him, wants to remake the world.

the final iteration of sasuke’s theme, “sasuke’s revolution/junkyousha,” brings it all together. the akatsuki is commonly represented through choir and organ, and this theme starts out with both of these cranked up to the max. this is (pardon the pun) sasuke’s rebirth, if you will. just combine the intensity of “girei,” the anger of “crimson flames,” and the determination of “emergence of talents” and you’re there. seriously: this culmination of sasuke’s character development basically pulls from every single facet of the soundtrack and produces this MASSIVELY rich piece full of anger and rage and hate and fury, while STILL managing to include the twangy guitar bits from “wandering” (which have gone back to 1 and 4!!). we also have someone going ham on a shamisen towards the end of the track, which calls to mind the shamisen solo from “emergence of talents” and other tracks. hinting at an eventual compromise with naruto, possibly?

anyway, i started out this meta trying to find a piece of the soundtrack that could serve as madara’s theme, but i wasn’t sure that one existed. i think the susano’o has a theme, and the uchiha clan has a theme, but....madara just doesn’t?? sure there are unreleased tracks like “legendary uchiha,” but i’d argue that doesn’t really go into his character as much as it just says “watch out for this fucking guy.”

but then i listened to hurricane suite one more time, and i was like HOLY SHIT THIS IS IT. for one thing, it’s long as fuck: this track is a whole journey. it really gives the impression of someone who has lived an impossibly long life and become jaded and cruel and hardened. i realize that the argument could be made that hurricane suite is sasuke’s theme, not madara’s, or that it’s a general shippuden theme and doesn’t represent one character in particular. and yes, i think both of these interpretations are correct. hurricane suite represents what sasuke could POTENTIALLY turn out to be, given his evolution from “wandering” to “black spot” to “sasuke’s ninja way” all the way to “sasuke’s revolution.” hurricane suite warns us that sasuke can (and very well may!) make the same mistakes madara did and end up destroying himself in the process. (the middle of “hurricane suite” GREATLY resembles “wandering.”) and recall that hurricane suite is used in the very first episode of shippuden: the episode where naruto encounters sasuke for the first time, AND- are you ready for this- when madara’s name is dropped for the first time in the series.

this is why i think that, along with it being a general shippuden theme, hurricane suite is also madara’s theme. shippuden as a whole is practically suffocating under the oppressive weight of madara’s presence, right from the very first episode. even before he’s introduced, he is VERY much there. so much of madara’s character is established before he even shows up. we hear so much about him from other characters (kurama, itachi, obito, hashirama), and as such our view of madara changes drastically over the course of the series. and guess what plays when itachi shows sasuke that genjutsu of madara stealing izuna’s eyes?

anyway, in my opinion and in my interpretation of the character, the music fits him perfectly. it starts out all low and choral with these slow ominous drums and deep strings, and this violin comes in that sounds like it’s weeping. we hear something like a heartbeat that grows darker over time, before the music comes to some sort of resolution, an inflection point, and the brass comes in heavy. NOW we’re dealing with the orchestra, three quarters of the way into the song, and we’ve got strings and drums set to a marching pace, more choral chanting, climbing strings and shamisen tumbling down the scales. it sounds like grief!!

and note that yes, this track is used in the very first episode of shippuden, during naruto and sasuke’s first encounter. but it is ALSO used during the scene in hashirama’s flashback when izuna is mortally wounded and madara makes the decision to abandon the clan on the battlefield to take care of him, despite his better judgment and hashirama’s offering of peace. the inflection point in the music represents a very real inflection point in madara’s life: the loss of his last brother. (it always comes back to that, doesn’t it.)

[carewyncromwell]

“A waltz when she walks in the room, She pulls back the hair from her face. She turns to the window to sway in the moonlight... Even her shadow has grace. A waltz for the girl out of reach, She lifts her hands up to the sky. She moves with the music; The song is her lover; The melody's making her cry... So she dances, in and out of the crowd, like a glance... This romance is from afar, calling me silently...”

~“So She Dances,” by Josh Groban

x~x~x~x

And to cap off my set of Valentine’s Day posts where I feature my MC’s and someone they care about...last but not least is my HPHL kelpie kid Ru! In the above picture, they’re pictured with Galen Stagg, who belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier, but this picture, this post, and this basic AF pencil test animation are actually about Ru’s relationship with their “keeper” and ttly-not-girlfriend Estrid Soelberg @that-ravenpuff-witch! (I wanted to overlay the two images, but the online sources I tried using to do so weren’t cooperating, so...eh. Here they are separately. XD)

When the kelpie who’d taken on the identity of the Ravenclaw student Rudolph Ollivander first encountered Estrid Soelberg, they did not like her. How could they, when it was because of her that they now wore a silver chain around their neck that she could use like a “leash” and keep them from transforming back into their true form and eating anything or anyone she disapproved of? Naturally Estrid didn’t care for Ru much either -- and really, considering that they nearly ate a first year, that also was pretty understandable. Over time, though, Estrid’s stance softened somewhat, upon realizing that there was an oddly sympathetic side to the carnivorous kelpie.

For one, Ru absolutely loved being at Hogwarts. It wasn’t obvious at first, given how laid-back and aloof they were, but their electric blue eyes were always bright and aware, never missing out on a single detail. Ru would spend hours and hours every day in the Hogwarts library, devouring every book they could. They would explore every corner of the castle grounds and memorize every shred of knowledge that came under their nose. They collected knick knacks and jewelry from Hogsmeade, even going so far as to pierce their ears in their third year, to the horror of all of the adults, both inside and outside of school. And this didn’t even touch on Ru’s great passion for history, magical creatures, Herbology, art, and especially photography. Their still Muggle photographs were always crystal clear and striking, from a view of the Black Lake taken from the Owlery to close-ups on the details of the winged boar statues near the front gates. Ru’s Muggle-style photography came alive in a way that magical photography -- which was still in its infancy and quite low in quality -- couldn’t capture. On the Christmas break of their third year, Ru also discovered and became very enamored with Muggle animation, which made crude drawings come to life -- Estrid, despite her best efforts, couldn’t bite back her laughter upon finding out that Ru had requested the permission of one of the snobbier girls in their year to use her as a model for an animation, only for the finished product to end up being of the girl picking her nose with her pinky finger.

As Estrid got to know Ru better, she decided to try showing them more compassion. For as inhuman as Ru was, and how eccentric, cold, and rude as they could be, their enrollment at Hogwarts truly didn’t seem to be motivated by anything malevolent -- it had truly just been the only way they saw for them to attend this school they’d been watching from afar and longed to see up close. And Estrid treating Ru with more respect and kindness, little by little, wore down Ru’s walls enough that they didn’t dislike her quite so much either. She not only was insightful enough to suss out that they didn’t like eating around other people and showed them the Hogwarts kitchens so that they’d have a place where they could eat in peace, but she didn’t see the need to fill the silence with worthless conversation the way so many of their classmates did. She could sometimes just let a moment be, let the emotions and time just rest for a while. With that, though, Estrid was actually a rather interesting person too, in her own way. She had her fair share of admirers for her appearance (which Ru acknowledged was decent enough, by human sensibilities), but she seemed actively disinterested and uncomfortable about it, instead being the type who was unafraid of being on her own. And yet despite this, Estrid truly wasn’t a loner like Ru was -- she had a gentle hand with creatures of all kinds, an artistic eye, and a soft smile that she rarely showed to much of anyone, but was always sincere. Most striking of all to Ru, though, was the way she moved when she danced. The way her limbs bent and stretched with such grace fascinated Ru. They wished they could slow down time sometimes, just to analyze every tiny little flick of her fingers or flourish of her ankle. Knowing that they couldn’t take enough pictures to capture the grace of her movements, and not yet having a camera that could take moving pictures, Ru settled on trying to animate Estrid. Most of the animations were very crude in the beginning, consisting of nothing but stick figures, but little by little, Ru studied the proportions of the human body (very different than that of a kelpie!) and tried to refine their technique. And before long, all of their animations ended up being modeled on Estrid some way or another -- the vast majority of them being her dancing ballet.

Another person who’d be in the room sometimes when Estrid was dancing was their yearmate Galen Stagg, who often practiced the piano while Estrid was dancing. Ru found the Gryffindor inoffensive for the most part -- like Ru and Estrid, he had a talent for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures (Ru could sense that Galen in particular had a magical gift for communicating with creatures, even more than Ru themselves did, considering they were actually a kelpie), so sometimes the three of them would end up in the library studying at the same table before a test. Galen was a bit of pansy to Ru’s taste, given his dislike for conflict or confrontation, but he like Estrid was soft-spoken enough that he never gave Ru any real headaches.

One day while Estrid was dancing and Ru sat off on the sidelines (sitting with their legs crumpled up in such a manner that one could wonder if they’d ever learned how to cross their legs properly), Galen took a break from playing to come over and sit down next to the messily-dressed Ravenclaw on the floor. Although he himself really enjoyed drawing too, he’d always felt like Ru tolerated him more than liked him and so had been hesitant to ask Ru if he could see any of their artwork. This day, though, he finally mustered up the courage to ask.

“...May...may I see what you’re working on?”

Ru lowered the page they’d lifted to fine-tune and shot a look out the side of their eye at him.

“...It’s not finished,” they said bluntly.

“That’s all right!” said Galen self-consciously. “That is...I don’t mind, if it’s still sketchy.”

Ru considered him for a moment silently. Just when Galen opened his mouth, ready to say that Ru didn’t have to if they didn’t want to, the kelpie held their sketchbook out in one hand for Galen to take.

With a surprised, but relieved blink, Galen took it and looked at the top page. It was still only a cluster of loosely connected circles and ovals, but Galen could just barely make out what it was.

“It’s Estrid,” he realized, his jade-colored eyes lighting up. “Isn’t it?”

Ru nodded curtly, their gaze drifting off to watch Estrid at the barre.

“That’s just the last frame,” they said in a very low, nonchalant voice.

“Frame?”

“Of animation. Pick up the next eight pages and flip them one by one.”

Galen did so -- and to his delight, he watched as the little cluster of ovals and circles unfolded its arms and spread them in a graceful arc that flourished at the wrists.

“Wow, Ru,” said Galen, impressed, “it looks just like Estrid! I mean, the movement looks just like hers. You really captured the grace of her arms.”

Ru’s electric blue eyes swiveled absently in Galen’s direction, but they didn’t turn around or meet his eyes. Instead their gaze returned to Estrid as they brought up a hand and smoothed some of their long black hair behind their ear.

“...You reckon?” they asked, their quiet voice oddly contemplative.

Galen looked at Ru, surprised. Were they...blushing?

Feeling a wave of compassion for the Ravenclaw all of a sudden, Galen offered them a smile.

“...Yeah. It’s really nice, Ru. I’m sure it’ll be smashing when it’s done.”

Ru’s eyes stayed on Estrid, narrowing slightly.

“The way she moves...” they said lowly, “I’ve never seen anyone else move like that. Even other dancers. It...seems like something that shouldn’t just disappear into the void, when the moment is over...like everything does, sooner or later. I’ve tried to photograph her before, but it doesn’t capture the movement. Even when I take a lot of still pictures one right after another, or when I actively try to get shots that blur, it doesn’t work. And magical photographs...hmph! They’re an absolute joke. They deteriorate so easily, and their quality is atrocious.”

Galen smiled sympathetically. “Well, wizards really have only had them for a short while...I reckon they might need a little time to catch up, right?”

Ru scoffed loudly through their nose and mouth, sounding rather like an offended horse. “It’s pathetic.”

They rested their hands behind them on the floor, leaning back slightly.

“So...the only way I could try to capture the way she moves -- to make it last, past that moment, was to draw it. It’s not exactly easy to get her hands right, though,” they added sourly under their breath.

“Hands are every artist’s Achilles’s heel, I think,” said Galen with a quiet laugh.

His green eyes softened. “...You really care about Estrid a lot, don’t you?”

Ru’s face flushed a bit more darkly as they whirled on him with a glare.

“Don’t read too much into it, Stagg. I find her movements interesting. That’s all.”

Despite Ru’s denials, however, Galen thought to himself that Estrid was pretty lucky, to have someone in her life who’d put in so much effort to try to memorialize her in a lasting way. He wondered if Ru even realized just how sweet and selfless of an instinct that really was.